


May the Valar Protect Them

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3rd Age - The Stewards, Canon - Engaging gap-filler, Canon - Enhances original, Canon - Fills plot hole(s), Canon - Solves frequent reader complaint, Characters - Family Dynamics, Characters - Friendship, Characters - Good use of minor character(s), Characters - Good villain(s), Characters - New interpretation, Characters - Outstanding OC(s), Characters - Strongly in character, Characters - Unusual relationship(s), Characters - Well-handled emotions, Drama, Plot - Bittersweet, Plot - Can't stop reading, Plot - Dangerous topic w/satisfying end, Plot - Disturbing/frightening/unsettling, Plot - Fast moving, Plot - Good pacing, Plot - I reread often, Plot - Joy, Plot - Surprising reversals, Plot - Tear-jerker, Subjects - Animals, Subjects - Culture(s), Subjects - Economics, Subjects - Explores obscure facts, Subjects - Geography, Subjects - Medical/Healing, Subjects - Plants/Environment, Subjects - Politics, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Every word counts, Writing - Evocative, Writing - Good use of humor, Writing - Well-handled PoV(s), Writing - Well-handled dialogue, Writing - Well-handled introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2003-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-23 12:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 123,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3769119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story  tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Imladris

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Elrond, Lord of Imladris, set down the quill pen and stared thoughtfully at the small, bound book before him. Writing this tale had been an unlooked-for joy, and he was pleased with the completion. He would allow the ink to dry and then have his scribe begin the work of making copies. A copy would most certainly be sent to Minas Tirith, to his own daughter and foster-son Queen Arwen and King Elessar for he was sure they would wish to know of this tale regarding their dear friend and member of the Fellowship of the Ring. Another copy he would send to the archivist of Legolas, Lord of the elves of Ithilien. This tale was not about the War of the Ring, but a part of the story of one member of the fellowship. A story that deserved to be remembered, to remind all that the Valar, perhaps Ilúvatar himself, had guided the lives of those involved in this fateful time and brought them together for just such a purpose as this.

The War of the Ring was over, and the power of the elven rings was fading. The time of the elves was fading as well, and Elrond himself was preparing Imladris for his own departure to the undying lands. Groups of elves from Eryn Lasgalen and Lothlorien had passed through Imladris, the Last Homely House east of the sea, on their way to the Grey Havens. A recent group had come from Eryn Lasgalen and stayed for several days. Glorfindel had warmly greeted King Thranduil’s captain, Rawien, and the two had spent much time in conversation, sharing stories of battles fought and days gone by. Late one evening Glorfindel had come to Elrond and invited him to join them as he thought a story that Rawien had imparted to him would interest Elrond greatly.

Elrond had met the two in a small room that served as Glorfindel’s study. The furnishings were comfortable and the wine of good vintage. He greeted Rawien and settled in, curious to hear the tale that had piqued Glorfindel’s interest.

“Rawien has long served as captain to King Thranduil,” Glorfindel began the tale. “He and I have been discussing the War of the Ring, and the Fellowship that left here last winter. Rawien has known young Legolas since his birth, and has asked what led you to include him as representative of the elves.”

“The choice was proving difficult,” Elrond frowned at the memory of that time. “Many elves of great renown had volunteered to accompany the Ringbearer, each a wise and strong warrior, but none seemed right to me. As I was pondering the qualities I was hoping for – a young elf, one who was still enthusiastic about life in Middle-Earth, a strong and brave warrior but one who would not attract the attention of the Dark Lord – I heard the voice of Legolas speaking with Estel and some of the young hobbits regarding their journey from Bree to Imladris. Estel and Legolas had recently met and become friends when Estel delivered Gollum to the elves of Mirkwood; and I thought of Mithrandir’s words of trusting to friendship when choosing companions for the Ringbearer. A strong sense came to me then that Legolas was the one I was seeking. Legolas’ prowess with the bow and knife are unsurpassed, he has heightened senses – even for an elf – that would aid the fellowship, and the compassion and interest he showed in the hobbits, a people new to him, confirmed in my mind that he was the one I was seeking.”

Rawien smiled, “Our Prince lived up to your expectations, then?”

“Very much so,” Elrond answered. “Has Legolas returned to his father’s realm? Have you seen him?”

“Yes,” Rawien replied. “I could not leave these shores without seeing him and knowing he was well. I could not leave without saying farewell, although I do hope he will come soon.”

“I suspect that Legolas will linger in Arda for some time,” Elrond said thoughtfully. “He has made many friends, and promised the King of the Reunited Lands to help restore Gondor’s lands to their former beauty and glory. Did Legolas speak to his father about his desire to move a colony of elves to Ithilien?”

“Thranduil heard his request and I believe he will grant it. Our people love the Prince and are very proud of the role he played in the overthrow of Sauron. The King is of course concerned about the mortals that Legolas has befriended and the pain and grief he will experience when those mortals die.”

“The pain and grief are real,” Elrond answered truthfully, “but I believe that Legolas was appointed to this time and to friendship with these mortals. His friendship with the Dwarf, Gimli, may be unheralded in Arda through history, and the friendship between Legolas and Aragorn is reminiscent of Gil-Galad and Elendil of old.”

“Do you know the tale of Legolas’ birth, Elrond?” Rawien asked quietly.

Elrond thought for a moment. He knew Legolas was born near the end of the Watchful Peace, not long before the capture and torture of his own beloved Celebrían.

“I know that your Queen Narawen died at or not long after the birth of your youngest prince and the fate of the child was not known for some time; but much of my time was demanded by the White Council and the troubles here in Imladris not long after, and I know not the details of what occurred,” Elrond admitted.

“Then you will enjoy this tale,” Glorfindel laughed, “for it will prove your point about the involvement of the Valar and perhaps Ilúvatar himself in the affairs of Arda and her people.”

Glorfindel refilled the wine glasses and nodded for Rawien to begin.  



	2. Rawien's Request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

King Thranduil sat upon his throne in the Great Hall, his shoulders bent and his head bowed, his crown held loosely in his hand. His other hand shuttered his eyes; the depth of grief in them unfathomable. The Great Hall was quiet; his herald and advisors had long since taken their leave for the day. No court was held, nor would it be for some days to come, for all of Mirkwood was in mourning.

Rawien entered the hall silently. He stood in the shadows and gazed thoughtfully upon his King. The grief and sorrow of the past days had aged him in a way that time could not. Rawien himself had been the one to face his King earlier that day and relinquish to him the bodies of Queen Narawen and Prince Alagos. Narawen’s face held no peace – she had died violently. Rawien had cleaned her body and dressed her in a clean robe before wrapping her in a cloak and laying her upon the bier that had borne her back to Mirkwood. He was glad to have spared the King seeing her as they had found her.

He and his warriors did not find, however, the one she had just birthed.

Missing with that little one were the two young daughters of Urithral, the King’s advisor; and Tathiel, a she-elf who had waited upon Queen Narawen.

The elves were an immortal people. Their lives were tied to Arda; as long as Arda existed they would also. They did not become ill, nor did their bodies grow weary with time. Death in battle, and rarely, death due to grief did occur. The body was then no more, but the spirit passed to the Halls of Mandos. Manwë could keep the spirit until Arda ended or the spirit could be re-born. Thus, the elves knew that their loved ones lived on, and they had only to bide their time until they would be reunited. Not knowing if a loved one yet lived was perhaps the greatest torment on the mind of an elf, for they had not the presence of their loved one nor the comfort of the Halls of Mandos. In this instance, when the missing were young elves – elves not fully nurtured into adulthood – the torment was greater still.

Thranduil shifted in his chair, and raised his head. His eyes slowly swept the Hall, falling upon his Captain standing in the shadows. Their eyes met and Thranduil saw the sorrow that mirrored his own, but also a flicker of determination. Rawien had come with a purpose.

Rawien approached the King, stopping before the throne and bowing. “My King.”

“Rawien,” the King acknowledged him softly.

“My Lord, I have come to ask permission to leave at dawn with a party of ten.”

“You have hope, then?” Thranduil asked him steadily.

Rawien kept his eyes fixed on the King. “There is hope, my Lord.”

“On what is your hope based, Captain?”

“My Lord, we found no evidence of Tathiel or the children in the cave. Their small store of supplies were gone, as well as their blankets and packs. There were many tracks around the upper entrance, of horses and of booted feet. Human feet, we believe. There were no signs of struggle,” Rawien paused as he choked on his own emotions. “Tathiel is resourceful, my Lord. She will find a way to keep the children safe and keep them all alive.”

Thranduil was quiet for a moment, his eyes again closed. He pictured the faces of Tinánia and Eärundra, daughters of Urithral and Ethiwen; remembered their excitement at going on their first trip with their parents. He thought of Tathiel, of the friendship she shared with his dear wife and how Narawen had loved her like a sister. He pictured in his mind what his warriors had told him, of how Narawen had gone into labor in that cave and Tathiel had tended her. He wondered about his son, his little Legolas. He wondered if the child yet lived - wondered if the child could live without his mother or father with him. To have Legolas, to have that legacy of Narawen…..

“Permission granted,” Thranduil finally whispered. He paused, eyes closed, “May the Valar protect them.”

***

Thranduil walked slowly back to his chambers, glad for the empty halls. He was not ready to face the grief and compassion of others. He had to go see to his other children, to share their grief, and comfort and reassure them. He would cry with them over the loss of their mother and brother, and tell them again of the Halls of Mandos and of Valinor. He would give them Rawien’s hope that perhaps their beloved Tathiel would yet be found and their baby brother too.

As he walked, his mind was drawn back yet again to the events that had led to this time.

***

_One month earlier….._

“There is a trade delegation from the land of Dorwinian that will be meeting in Laketown in two weeks,” Narawen whispered to Thranduil as they lay in bed in the early morning hours. “We should take a trip to meet them, now before the baby is born.”

“Hmmm,” Thranduil sighed, not quite fully awake.

“Ethiwen would like to come too, and bring their children. It would be their first trip away from Greenwood,” Narawen paused. “It would be an enjoyable trip. You and Urithral could negotiate some new trade agreements. Ethiwen and I could shop. Perhaps you could restock the Dorwinian wine. It is your favorite,” she coaxed.

Thranduil was silent for a few moments. “Is it safe for you to be about this close to the birth?”

“Yes. I have already discussed it with the midwife. She reports that my progress is perfect and on schedule,” Narawen was pleased she had done her homework.

“Then far be it from me to withhold from my very beautiful and very pregnant wife such a desire that is in my grasp to fulfill,” Thranduil murmured as his wife’s hair brushed over his face and chest as she leaned over to kiss him mid-sentence.

Thranduil loved his wife dearly. She was everything he had ever hoped her to be when she agreed to be his wife and Queen of their people. She had borne him six beautiful children already, and this seventh child was as much a celebration of their love as he - Narawen was sure it was a son - was a celebration to the peace they had enjoyed for so many years. The elves of Thranduil’s realm were very productive when it came to children – it had taken long to build up the numbers of their people after the terrible loss of two thirds of their warriors at the battle of Dagorlad nearly 2500 years earlier. They valued their children greatly; Thranduil felt like a very rich man whenever he surveyed his offspring gathered around him.

Narawen nearly bounced out of bed. “Then come, sleepyhead, we must get ready!”

Thranduil laughed out loud. The excitement of his wife was catching, and he found himself rising and preparing himself for the day, already pondering what items the elves of his realm needed and what they had to barter.

***

Narawen found herself nearly giggling as she went to her dressing room. Tathiel was already there, waiting to assist her. Tathiel’s face lit up into a smile when she saw her queen.

“He said yes,” Tathiel laughed.

“Yes, he said yes. I feel as excited as a young elf-maiden again,” Narawen finally did giggle. “One would think I had not left the realm in a hundred years!”

Narawen twirled in a circle, laughing again, and finally depositing herself on the stool of her dressing table. Tathiel began brushing her hair. “Perhaps not a hundred years, but it has been some time. You are glowing, my Lady, do you know that? I think pregnancy agrees with you.”

“My son brings me great joy already,” Narawen smiled as she placed both hands over her ever-enlarging belly. “I believe he will also enjoy this little adventure.”

Tathiel joined in the laughter as she listened to the Queen recite the plans for the trip. She placed the hairbrush back on the table and went to choose a gown from the wardrobe. Her eyes fell on a beautiful blue gown that matched the queen’s eyes to perfection. She helped Narawen into the gown, the empire waist style flowing gracefully around the pregnant form of the queen.

“There. You look ready to take on all the trade delegations of Arda. Come, eat, so you may go find Ethiwen and share the good news.”

“You will come too, Tathiel? Narawen asked

“On your trip? Of course. Someone must ensure that you eat and rest and otherwise take care of yourself,” Tathiel snorted. “Now go, I will take care of packing and speak to the King’s guard about preparations.”

Narawen hugged her tight. “I love you, my little sister,” and then was gone out the door.

***

The mood in the palace was high as preparations for the trip were begun. Light and laughter followed Narawen as a matter of course; for the last week however, the mood was even lighter and laughter more frequent. Thranduil loved seeing the sparkle in her eyes and her voice raised in song. The tunes were merry and spoke of the beauty of the forest, the stars in the skies at night, and the wonder of the star-kindler Elbereth. The trip would be pleasurable; but it would also be of benefit to their people. Each member of the group had some business to attend to, and sample items for trade were carefully packed on carts for the trip. The route they would take required little planning. It would be an easy journey, meant to be treasured and enjoyed, of five days to reach Laketown by the Forest River path. There had been relative peace for nearly four centuries. Orcs and spiders had fled from the realm of the elves, and relations with the men of Laketown were still quite good. There seemed little to worry about.

The small group gathered at dawn on a fine summer’s morning. Thranduil was hopeful for both a successful trade negotiation and for the enjoyment of this time spent with friends and family. Urithral was his most trusted advisor, and would be meeting with the Laketown men to discuss trade for metals they would use to outfit the warriors of Greenwood. Thranduil and Urithral well remembered the horrors of Dagorlad when so many of their people had fallen, many due to inadequate armor and weapons. Elves had been sent to Imladris, and some even to the dwarves, to learn the arts of weapon forging, and had detailed lists of materials they would require. Ethiwen, the wife of Urithral, was an accomplished warrior who spent her time since the conception of their children within the realm of Greenwood, teaching the novices and experimenting with new weapons. This trade was close to both of their hearts. Narawen would be discussing trade for fine cloth and useful household items. Calardan, an ingenuous craftsman, would be assisting Narawen. Tathiel had long trained as a healer and had traveled to other elven realms to learn and share knowledge with others of their craft. She hoped to further the knowledge of the Laketown healers and teach them to use the herbs and medicines crafted by the elves. Rawien and five others would act as protectors of the leaders of Greenwood. Included in this group was Alagos, the youngest son of Thranduil and Narawen. Alagos had just completed his warrior training and been through the formal ceremony commissioning him with the responsibility to defend and protect his people.

Thranduil mounted his horse and turned to the merry travelers. Narawen and Tathiel were riding in a cart; Tathiel insisting that no matter how light and smooth the steps of Narawen’s fine horse Tembor, the cart would be more comfortable for her and the baby. Tembor had snorted and stamped his foot when he saw the group preparing to leave. Narawen had scratched his head and agreed with him that she knew he would safely carry her and the little one; but, nonetheless he would need to remain behind or agree to pull the cart. Tembor threw his head at that suggestion – he did not pull carts and how could she even suggest he perform such a task?

All other members of the party were mounted on horses; Ethiwen with her young daughter Eärundra in front of her as the child was yet too small to sit a horse on her own. Tinánia, older daughter of Ethiwen and Urithral; and Elumeril, youngest daughter of Thranduil and Narawen; both sat proudly on fine young mares. Both had recently received their first horses, and had been deemed able to ride on their own by their riding masters.

Thranduil turned to the palace steps and surveyed his children again. Bregolas would be holding court in his father’s stead for the first time without one of his parents or Urithral present. Thranduil was proud of his son’s bearing; he looked every inch the confident Crown Prince. His younger brother, Lathron, would be acting as advisor to the Prince. Narawen had laughed after Lathron’s birth that he had appeared to listen intently and wisely from the moment he was introduced to the world, and he had held to that countenance throughout his entire childhood and into adulthood. Their third child, Celebrinduil, was a craftsman who had long trained under Calardan. He and Calardan were still talking and discussing which raw materials would most benefit the elves in their endeavors. Thranduil shook his head and smiled. Celebrinduil’s imagination and lack of attention to matters of court used to drive him to distraction and at times, anger. It was Narawen who had suggested an apprenticeship to Calardan, and her insight into this child had proved true as Celebrinduil flourished under Calardan’s tutelage. Thranduil’s eyes turned to his fifth child and oldest daughter, Elenath. Named for the starry sky under which she was born, this child was a fiery whirlwind who kept up with her brothers and yet curled up with her mother to discuss the latest fashion. A novice warrior-in-training, she was thrilled to be with all the other young novices and even now at the departure of her parents, older brother and younger sister, she could barely stand still in her eagerness to rejoin her new comrades.

“We shall return in approximately three weeks hence,” Thranduil reminded them, his eyes twinkling. “Rule wisely in my stead, Prince Bregolas.”

Bregolas stood tall, prepared to bow and answer the King, when a quiet comment from Lathron sent all of the nearby elves into snickers. Bregolas reddened and waved a hand at his brother to quiet him, but whispered words from Celebrinduil set everyone off again.

Thranduil threw back his head and laughed at Bregolas’ discomfiture and joined Rawien in leading the group out the palace gates. His siblings would be sure to keep Bregolas’ head from swelling too much at the responsibility to which he had been entrusted.

Narawen looked back at the four on the steps one last time and waved. She was confident and proud of each, and already looking forward to returning home to hear from each what they had accomplished in the absence of their parents.  



	3. Laketown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

“ _Naneth_ , will we be having _lembas_ to eat?” Elumeril’s question elicited a smile from her mother and groans from the warriors.

“Elves always travel with _lembas, tithen min_ , but I do not think we will need them on this short trip,” Narawen replied. “Are you dissatisfied with the food packed for the journey?”

Elumeril and Tinánia grinned at each other. They were riding behind the cart bearing Narawen and Tathiel – and the food. “No, _Naneth_. The food looks quite good.”

Narawen smiled at Tathiel. She knew how the game worked. The next question was hers to ask. “Then why are you wondering about the lembas?”

“We have been listening to the great warriors recount tales of their heroic deeds and long expeditions where they had nothing to survive on but _lembas_ ,” Elumeril explained. “We were hoping for their sake they would not have need to eat them on this journey.”

Alagos laughed and Sadron and Laerion both had the good grace to blush and lower their eyes. It was their heroic deeds and tales of hardship – meant for Alagos’ ears, as this was his first outing as a full warrior – that had been overheard by the young _elleth_.

“Perhaps the _neth elleth_ would care to try the _lembas_?” Alagos teased his young sister and her friend. “Do you wish to pretend you are warriors, traveling home after days of fighting Orcs and spiders?”

Tinánia nudged Elumeril. This was exactly what they wanted: to pretend they were on an adventure. “Well…..,” Elumeril thought quickly, “perhaps that would be a good experience for us, so we might know if we wished to become warriors when we come of age.”

Narawen laughed out loud. She had easily guessed where this conversation was heading. “ What do you think, Tathiel, have we enough _lembas_ to spare two growing _elleth_?”

“Yes, my lady, I am sure we can spare it,” Tathiel answered agreeably.

“Do you also have need of weapons?” Narawen knew a good adventure needed proper armament.

“Yes, _Naneth_ ,” Elumeril answered excitedly, forgetting all subtleness now that she had her mother’s permission to play the game.

“Good. When we make camp for the evening, I believe that our heroic warriors would very much enjoy helping you fashion bows and arrows, and I believe we have some small daggers in the cart that you might carry,” Narawen’s eyes twinkled as she saw warriors rolling their eyes, helpless to disagree with their queen.

So went the first day of the adventure – a perfect day by all accounts. For it is a fine thing to play at being a warrior, and quite lovely to talk about fighting Orcs and spiders when you are two young _elleth_ traveling safe ground in the company of mighty warriors.

That evening Alagos, Sadron, and Laerion helped the girls fashion bows appropriate for their size, and adapted arrows for their use. Quivers to hold the arrows were woven out of reeds from the riverbank and silver rope used to make straps to hold the quivers and arrows in place on the maiden’s backs. Small daggers in sheaths were tied about their calves, and they were taught to care for their weapons and use them safely. That evening, tents were set up along the riverbank – one for Narawen and Thranduil; another for Ethiwen, Urithral and Eärundra. A third small tent was fashioned and staked for Elumeril and Tinánia, for warriors did not sleep with their parents.

The six big warriors laid their bedrolls around the fire, and set the watches. Calardan and Tathiel also chose to sleep under the stars, and they were placed in the protective middle of the group. Rawien sat against the stump of a tree, his head tilted back watching the stars. The younger warriors were laughing and talking when Orchalthon began a song, quickly picked up by the others. The light of Eärendil flashed in the sky, and the trees whispered to them, joining in the song.

Rawien felt content; times of peace had been rare in Middle-Earth and he treasured lighthearted moments like these when watches were set because it was the proper thing to do, not because they were likely to be necessary. He wondered what life might have been like had he a wife, perhaps even children. He had not in his many centuries met a she-elf that captured his heart. His gaze turned to Tathiel and he smiled to himself. He had in many ways watched her grow up. She was not beautiful in the manner of Tinúviel or the Evenstar; but she was pleasing to behold. She had caught the Queen’s eye as a young maiden, and served in the royal household from the time of her coming of age. She was resourceful, had learned much in the healing arts, able to apply knowledge and teach it to others; she was loyal and very much loved by those who knew her. Rawien smiled; for he knew not how others determined when they were in love; for himself, he was sure that he was, though he doubted he could articulate how exactly he knew this to be true. He made a determination that night to speak with the King about Tathiel; for she lived under the protection of his household. This decision firmly in his mind, Rawien let himself drift into elvish dreams.

***  
Tathiel lay awake for some time, staring at the stars and listening to the songs. She found herself watching Rawien, noting that he listened much and spoke little. The respect the other warriors carried for him was great; evidenced by his wishes being carried out immediately and without question. She knew he had fought at Dagorlad with Thranduil; had served as Captain to Oropher, Thranduil’s father, and Thranduil after Oropher’s death. He was much older than she; born in the middle of the third age she was considered young by elven standards. She had spent much of her adult life serving Queen Narawen. She had been present for the births of the Queen’s last four children, and Narawen had encouraged her to learn and practice the healing arts. Long she had watched the captain of Mirkwood. He had at times been part of the guard that escorted the healers to other realms or protected them as they searched out their herbs in unlikely places. He had never seemed to notice her, though he was always polite and considerate. Tathiel knew that all she need do is speak of her desire to know him better to Narawen, and the queen would arrange some unobtrusive way for them to meet. She had not done so, wishing instead that he would seek her out. She watched as he drifted into sleep, before wrapping herself in her cloak and doing the same.

***

The weather remained fair, and after three more leisurely days the travelers passed from the canopy of Mirkwood and skirted the Long Marshes. Laketown could be seen in the distance, an island entered only via the Great Bridge at the western edge of Long Lake. Many campsites had been erected outside the city gates; a sure sign of peaceful times that all did not need to be safely ensconced within the protective city walls and its water defenses. The Mirkwood elves chose a secluded clearing in a clump of trees to set up camp. The spot was chosen for privacy, for though the elves were known to the residents of Laketown, they preferred solitude and quiet over the bustle and noise of the city and larger camps. The camp was erected by dusk, and the elves settled in for the night with stories and song around their fire. Their fair voices could be heard at nearby campsites, and many paused and quieted to listen to the rare and beautiful music.

The carts holding samples of items the elves had for barter were repacked the following morning and taken through the gates and across the great bridge into the city proper. A marketplace had been erected around the market pool where wares could be examined and prices negotiated. The Great Hall was the site of feasts and where negotiations for raw materials and larger quantities of finished goods might occur. Calardan and Tathiel set up the cart in the marketplace with items for barter, and contact was nearly immediate with craftsman seeking elvish goods. Healers and teachers of the healing arts were always glad when the elves came to share their knowledge, for they seemed to always have new information and experience in areas that were of great benefit to the humans of Middle-Earth.

Thranduil made immediately for the Great Hall, where leaders of other delegations were gathering for a time of introduction and socialization. The traders in Dorwinian wine would be present and he hoped to quickly negotiate a good deal. Rawien followed him unobtrusively, watching his back and the surroundings. Urithral and Ethiwen, accompanied by Orchalthon, had already found the men of the iron hills, who were willing to sell them the raw materials needed for the crafting of arms and armor.

The days in the marketplace passed quickly. Tathiel held several training sessions daily, teaching local healers in the use of herbs and new healing methods. She and Calardan took turns escorting the Queen Narawen to various shops and stands. The Queen was a charming and adept negotiator; few could resist her winsome ways and the Mirkwood elves were sure to benefit greatly from the cooking utensils, fabrics, threads, domesticated animals, and other items that she skillfully obtained for a very fair price. Thranduil had often said she could talk him out of his crown, jewels and clothing, and naked he would leave, thankful for the privilege of doing business with her. This image Narawen carried with her at all times and if the King ever wondered what made her eyes sparkle and a smile creep unbidden to her lips at unusual times….well that was her little secret.

Caravans bearing bottles and barrels of the finest wines from Dorwinian were en route to Laketown via the River Celduin. Thranduil was able to negotiate a fair deal by agreeing to meet the traders at the Old Forest Road, hence saving the caravans the slower journey and falls bypass near the southern tip of Long Lake.

Urithral fared less well. He had samples of the ores that were preferred by the smiths, and the men of the iron hills had matches present, but not in the quantity needed. A messenger was sent back to the village to obtain the necessary amounts and Urithral agreed to meet them at the eastern edge of the Iron Hills. The ores were heavy, and pack animals and wagons would be rented from Laketown for the journey to the Iron Hill and back.

Thranduil’s party met each night at their campsite where they ate, made merry music and told tales. The children went into Laketown on two occasions, that they might see a city of men. While fascinated, they were glad to return to the peaceful comfort of the woods and stars. Three little _ellyth_ had adventures and practiced their riding and weapons practice under the watchful eye of the camp guard. Narawen could scarce remember a more idyllic time. She spent hours in the shade of the trees with her needlework, fashioning garments for her new son, while watching and listening to the adventures of the little ones. When all negotiations were finished, Thranduil, Urithral, Narawen, Ethiwen and Rawien met to discuss the best way to retrieve the goods.

“I have never traveled beyond Laketown,” Narawen stated to the group. “I have heard the fields are covered in wildflowers and the sky so open that the stars seem many times their normal number.”

“I have traveled to the Iron Hills and beyond. The plains roll like waves in the sunlight, and the wildflowers are tall and many hued. It is a beautiful land,” Rawien replied.

Thranduil was thoughtful, “How many days travel to go there and back again?”

Urithral had obtained this information from the traders. “They are meeting us more than half the way. Our share of the journey is about the same as from Mirkwood to Laketown. They report that the journey is not difficult.”

“I will take two and meet the Dorwinian caravan at the Old Forest Road. My journey will be slightly shorter. I will also obtain horses and carts from Laketown, and we will travel by land from the edge of the wood to the Old Forest River. From there, we will send the barrels by river. The rest of you shall go see the fields of the East,” Thranduil smiled indulgently at the joy and sparkle in Narawen’s eyes at this news. “I will return to the palace, and determine with my fine sons the best way of moving the ore through the forest – by road or by raft.”

“My Lord, if we do not meet elves at the Long Marshes upon our return, we will continue by road,” Urithral answered, thinking of the most efficient use of the wagons.

“We are settled, then,” Thranduil finished. “Tomorrow we will obtain wagons and horses and be gone by midday.”

***

Dawn saw the camp of the elves dismantled and not long after horses and carts were brought from the city. Thranduil had considered hiring men from Laketown to drive the carts, but his own hesitation at close dealings with humans overcame the ease they might have provided, and he elected to rearrange the riders of his own group to cover the wagons. Orchalthon and Laerion would accompany him.

“Elumeril, would you like to accompany your _Adar_ to obtain the wine?” Thranduil asked. “You may drive a cart, if you so wish.”

Elumeril’s face lit up into a smile. Spend time with _Ada_ , alone? How could she refuse that? Being the youngest of six children (at least for now) meant that while she was much loved and received attention from all, time spent with _Ada_ alone was a rarity.

“Yes, _Ada_ ,” she bounced to his side, tucking one hand into his, her face shining. She missed the look of sadness on Tinánia’s face, for this would bring an end to the adventures of the two little warriors.

Narawen smiled. Stubborn and pigheaded he might be at times, but Thranduil was a good husband and a good father.

“I will miss you, my husband,” she murmured as he embraced her. “You are my light and my love.”

“As you are mine,” Thranduil held her close, one hand resting gently on her belly. “I shall wait impatiently for you and this little one to be back in my arms.”

Thranduil lifted her into the cart and watched them depart eastward into the noonday sun.

*******

**Author's Notes:**  
 _tithen min -----little ones_  
Naneth----- Mother  
Ada----- Father  
Neth elleth----- young elf maids  
Lembas----- waybread of the elves

**Elf childbearing** : According to the notes of Christopher Tolkien in Morgoth’s Ring, Volume 10 of the History of Middle Earth series, “Laws and Customs of the Elders”, elf parents chose the day of the conception of their child. The child was normally born one year to the day of the conception, and the child’s age is counted not upon their birth, but their conception day.

Elves also had few children, with Fëanor having the greatest number recorded at seven. Thranduil is portrayed as wanting his due in terms of riches, and I like big families, so he is attempting to equal Fëanor. Can’t have the Noldor showing up the Sindar!

**Elf Children** : An elf reached physical maturity between 50-100 years of age. I have purposefully not specified exact ages for the three youngsters in this story. The older two could be in their twenties and the younger in her young teens. Elf children are wise and well spoken, but their physical maturity would be approximately that of maybe an 11-12 year old, and perhaps a 7 year old.  



	4. The Iron Hills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

Narawen was awed by the vastness of the plains. As far as the eye could see tall grass swayed in the breeze, interspersed with rainbows of wildflowers. Occasional rolling hills and groves of trees dotted the landscape, and small streams meandered amongst it all. The road was obvious and easy; much traveled by the men and dwarves of the Iron Hills and Laketown.

“ _Naneth_ , why are there more stars over the plains than over the forest at night?” Eärundra asked, finally voicing the question that had been weighing on her mind since their first night camping under the open sky.

“The number of stars in the sky does not change, Eärundra, the sky merely seems bigger because there is naught to obstruct your view of it,” Ethiwen answered, smiling at the look on her daughter’s face as she considered this new information.

The travelers stopped for lunch beside a small stream where they might refill their water skins. Urithral and Rawien consulted their maps, peering off into the distance to gauge how far they had come.

“We should reach the Iron Hills by tomorrow at dusk,” Rawien estimated for the group.

“Who lives in the Iron Hills?” Narawen asked.

“At one time there were elves, before the Great Journey to the west,” Rawien replied. “Dwarves came next, and there are still colonies of them working the mines. Men also live in the hills – rugged men, who work the mines with the dwarves and men like those of Laketown, who trade the ores and metals.”

“Are there Orcs?” Tinánia asked, the desire to play warrior still persisting despite the lack of playmate.

“There have been Orcs at different times. I do not think there are any living there now,” Rawien answered, smiling. “I do not think you will need to defend us, at least not on this trip.”

Tinánia blushed shyly and moved so she was partially hidden behind her mother.

The party continued on, traveling until dusk and setting up their pavilions under the open sky. Rawien took the first watch, settling himself near a lone tree not far from the camp. The immensity of the sky was captivating, and it was easy to lose oneself in the stars that seemed to extend from east to west as well as high above. Centuries of life he had spent under the canopy of the forest, the trees warning of danger when needed or offering reassurance with whispers of goodwill. He felt vulnerable under the vastness of that open sky. He shrugged the feeling off. His instincts had saved him on many an occasion, so he was not wont to discount them; however the vulnerable feeling gave him no portent of danger to come.

***

The carts were fully loaded with carefully packed barrels of wine, and the caravan headed slowly north from the Old Forest Road. Elumeril was driving the second cart; which, while not as enjoyable as riding her own horse, gave her a fine sense of responsibility and pride that her father had entrusted the task to her. She and Ada slept under the stars with Orchalthon and Laerion, and she listened to their songs and stories and decided she would like to be a warrior, indeed, when she grew up.

The carts were heavily loaded, so when the axel snapped one day north in their travels back to Mirkwood, many hours were consumed unloading all of the barrels and removing the wheel. Fortunately, those who had rented them the carts had provided tools for repair for just such an occurrence as this. Orchalthon was quite skilled and made the repairs as quickly as possible; however nearly a whole day had been lost and Thranduil elected to stop for the evening. The cart was reloaded, as no one wanted to perform that labor early in the morning.

“Well,” Thranduil sighed, “I thought we would arrive at least a day ahead of the others. If they have no delays, we shall arrive together.”

***

Lathron sat up quickly, his breathing heavy and fast, a sense of panic in his heart. It was night, and the palace was dark and quiet. He had been woken out of slumber by a strong sense of urgency that all was not well. Lathron had been prone to strange dreams and visions, a rare thing among elves. He did not share these visions with his father, for Thranduil was not one to fancy with interpretations of things unclear. His mother was more understanding, and had since his childhood helped him to understand what such things might mean, as well as how to let go of those which could not be understood.

Lathron stood and donned a dressing robe. He opened the door to his balcony and stepped out into the cool summer air. He raised his face to the stars and let the breeze caress him. He quieted his spirit and waited, hoping for some further awareness as to the nature of his unease. In time the presence of his mother became very strong and he reached out to her, almost feeling he could touch her. Her look upon him was tender and loving, and he was comforted. The presence faded and he was again alone with the stars and wind for company.

“Lathron?” He heard his brother’s voice whispering from the door.

“On the balcony, Bregolas,” he replied softly.

“It is late for you to be awake, my brother.”

Lathron did not answer right away. It was not unusual for Bregolas to be up at this late hour. He was of Thranduil’s temperament and stamina, and his need for sleep was not great.

“Did you have a dream?” Bregolas prodded gently. His brother’s visions had always fascinated him, but were seldom discussed within the palace.

“Yes,” Lathron finally replied, slowly. “I am uneasy, as if something terrible is about to happen. But I do not know what the thing is, or how to stop it. And _Naneth_ …” he paused.

“What about mother?”

“ _Naneth_ was there, but she was not distressed. She did not reach to me for aid. She merely looked at me, so tenderly that I felt as if my heart might break from the love in her eyes,” Lathron turned to Bregolas, a troubled look upon his face. “I do not know what the vision means, or why _Naneth_ was there.”

Bregolas did not answer. He placed an arm about his brother’s shoulders and let his presence and touch provide the comfort and companionship that Lathron needed.

Lathron was the one who turned, as last, to face his brother. “Thank you, _nín muindor a mellon_.”

And though they both returned to their rooms, Lathron did not sleep any more that night.

***

Storm clouds appeared in the distance, dark and ominous, moving swiftly from the east. The temperature dropped quickly as the skies darkened. The small party stopped to retrieve cloaks from their packs, and lash the coverings over the wagons. Rawien frowned, watching and attempting to gauge the speed of the storm. The Iron Hills rose before them; they had perhaps another hours journey before them to reach their camp for the night. The next morning they would meet with the traders at a crossroads where the Iron Hills reached south and turned east.

Rawien, Urithral and Ethiwen convened near Narawen’s cart.

“I believe the storm will be upon us within the hour,” Rawien stated, his eyes turned again to the clouds. “Do we wish to find shelter, or continue on as far as we can?”

“I would feel more secure if we had some protection from the wind,” Urithral replied. “There, perhaps a league ahead, do you see the low hills? Why don’t we make camp on the west side of those rocks and allow them to bear the brunt of the storm?”

“Let us hurry,” Ethiwen shivered. “I think we will all feel the brunt if we tarry much longer.”

With that, the group moved forward, their speed increased as they moved quickly to the appointed rocks.

Elryndel and Sadron took the lead, galloping forward with the larger of the pavilions in hand, in hopes of securing a shelter before the Queen and the children arrived. Elryndel arrived first, Sadron not far behind him. Sadron saw Elryndel jerk in his saddle, and then fall from his horse, a knife protruding from his chest. Sadron’s first instinct was to go to his comrade, but his elven ears picked up strange sounds from the rocks.

“Orcs!” he shouted as he swung his mount around the other side of the rocks. He heard Rawien’s call of acknowledgement at the same time as a multitude of Orcs rose from the grass around the rock. They were lying in the tall grass, hiding, waiting in ambush. He quickly drew his bow and launched an arrow at the first, then hearing Rawien’s cry for retreat, he spun his horse around and headed back to the caravan.

A protective circle was formed around Narawen, Tathiel and the children, who were already hidden in the cart.

“How many?” Rawien called to Sadron.

“As few as 20, as many as 30. They are hiding in the tall grass and in the rocks,” Sadron answered.

With only six defenders, Rawien knew he could not draw the battle away from the innocent, nor could he hope to outrun them for they were approaching quickly. He swiftly contemplated moving Narawen, Tathiel and Eärundra to horses, but they would be more exposed initially and require further assistance than he could spare.

Sadron and Alagos calmly took up position at the front of the circle, unleashing arrows quickly and with deadly accuracy. All knew that this would be a fight to the death. Orcs seldom fought with weapons of distance, therefore the elven defenders would rely initially on their bows.

Rawien ran to Narawen. “You must hide in the cart, my Lady, with the children.” He passed several small daggers to her. She fingered the dagger quickly and then motioned Rawien to go.

The weapons were not for defense.

Rawien, Ethiwen and Urithral took up defensive positions flanking Sadron and Alagos. Calardan had proved himself competent with the bow, and took up position near Urithral. Arrows sufficed initially, with only the occasional Orc approaching close enough to require hand combat.

“Left!” Ethiwen heard Sadron call, and she spun, firing an arrow into an Orc that had arced around to approach from the west.

Narawen raised the tarp, and with Tathiel’s assistance lifted herself up to climb into the wagon. Suddenly she felt a burning pain in her side, and gasped, falling over the side to the wheel and then landing hard on the ground. Stunned, she lay still, waiting for her lungs to allow her to draw breath again.

Tathiel flung herself over the side of the cart, landing next to the queen. Narawen tried to speak to her, but had insufficient air to add sound to her words.

“Stay still and quiet while I look at you,” Tathiel whispered. She ran quick hands over the queen’s form, surprised when her hand came back wet with blood. She probed a little further, and felt the blade of an Orc knife protruding from just under the Queens ribs on her right side.

Narawen moaned softly. Tathiel felt dampness at her knee, and realized the lower part of Narawen’s body was soaked. She probed under the gown and found her fears confirmed. Narawen’s water had broken. The baby would be coming that day, in the midst of a battle, nearly two months earlier than when he was expected to make his appearance into the world.

At that moment lightning crackled and thunder boomed across the sky as rain fell from the sky in torrents. Tathiel flung her cloak over Narawen, attempting to shield her with her own body. Some minutes passed as even Tathiel’s elven sight faltered in the blinding sheets of rain. She did not see Rawien approach until he was nearly on her.

“What happened?” he yelled to make himself heard over the storm as he dropped to his knees beside her.

Tathiel guided his hand to the knife. “She fell when she was hit. Neither of us saw it. Her water is broken – I can feel her contractions beginning. The child will come soon.”

“We must get her into the shelter of the wagon. I will try not to jostle the knife.”

Tathiel nodded and ran to the wagon, crawling under the tarp and quickly arranging bedrolls and blankets for the Queen to lie on. Tinánia and Eärundra watched silently, their eyes wide with fear. Rawien appeared, gently climbed into the wagon bed and carefully placed the queen on the blankets as Tathiel held up the tarp.

“We must get away from here while we still can. The Orcs have retreated, at least for the moment. Do what you can to ease her, but we must go fast. Get that knife out – it does not appear poisoned but it should not wait.”

With that, Rawien was gone. Tathiel felt the wagon jerk forward as the horses were pushed into a gallop. Narawen moaned again as a contraction seized her and the wagon bounced, her hands clenched into fists at the pain.

“I am sorry my Lady,” Tathiel bit her lip to hold back her own tears. “I must remove the knife.”

Tathiel felt a soft touch on her arm and looked up into Tinánia’s face. The child scooted to the front of the wagon, and gently eased Narawen into her lap, pillowing her head in her arms, helping to absorb the jostling of the racing wagon. She crossed her arms gently but firmly over Narawen’s on the Queen’s belly, allowing the Queen to grasp her arms for stability, but not remove them.

Tathiel smiled, “Thank you, _tithen min_. That will help much.”

In the noise of the storm and jerking of the cart, Tathiel quickly removed the knife, then cleaned and bound the wound. No blood had spurted, and there was no evidence of poison – and for these small favors Tathiel was grateful. Narawen bore the pain quietly, gripping tight to Tinánia. She silently thanked the Valar that the knife had missed the child in her womb.

After some time, she felt the wagon slow and heard the quiet of elven feet approach the back of the wagon. Rawien drew back the tarp, and lightly jumped to sit beside her, the skies lighter behind him as the quick moving thunderstorm had passed them. “How is she?”

“The wound is not serious. Her labor pains are increasing, though. This rough journey has furthered her progress rather quickly. ”

He nodded. “We have found a small cave where she might give birth. There are no signs the Orcs have been here. Come, I will carry her inside.”

“I can hear you,” Narawen interjected, opening her eyes. “Is the battle over? Was anyone injured?”

“The battle is over for now, my Lady,” Rawien answered contritely. “We did not mean to speak around you. Please concentrate on your little one and let us worry for now about everything else.”

With that he scooped the Queen easily into his arms and carried her lightly into the cave. Tathiel followed with the blankets and bedrolls, and Tinánia with Tathiel’s medicine chest. Ethiwen quickly gathered Eärundra to her, and led her into the cave as well.

Tathiel quickly arranged the bedding and motioned for Tinánia to sit again at the top of the bedroll. Rawien placed Narawen before her, and settled the Queen’s upper body in Tinánia’s small lap. Tinánia resumed her ministrations, humming and gently massaging Narawen’s shoulders, arms, face and head. Narawen’s eyes were closed as she willed the pain through her and concentrated on the little one within.

Narawen started suddenly, her hands grasping her belly and a small cry passing unheeded from her lips. She panted through the contraction, then relaxed back into Tinánia’s arms. Tathiel was busy preparing the Queen for birth, removing the lower part of her gown and settling the cleanest blankets they had over her knees. Ethiwen squatted next to her on the floor.

“How may I help?”

“Water, cool to sponge the Queen and hot for the baby. Please heat these in whatever fire we can afford,” Tathiel handed her small tools for cutting the cord and helping ease passage, if needed.

Rawien knelt next to her again, and motioned her back.

“They are coming. Sadron saw a scout approaching us from the north, but they have hidden now that the storm has passed and daylight returned. They will come sometime during the night; and this time, as much as I can, I must lead them away from you. Alagos wishes to guard his mother; he will stay with you when the time comes. We are going to set up camp away from this cave, in the hope of luring them to us.”

“One guard,” Tathiel faltered.

“If I leave more, they will suspect we have hidden some and they will search for you. Ethiwen too shall come with us,” he grinned as she approached with the water, “for she is unsurpassed with the bow.”

She tapped him lightly on the shoulder as she set the water down. “I will do what I can, O Captain mine, but I have no delusions that my skills surpass any in this party. Except my husband, of course.”

“You have always bested him at that, have you not?” Narawen’s quiet voice teased. Her face contorted as another contraction seized her, and she squeezed Tinánia’s hand tightly.

Tathiel motioned Rawien away. “She is close. Go see if Alagos wishes to witness the birth of his brother.”

Another contraction seized Narawen, and the baby crowned. Narawen made no sound, she breathed as she had been taught, and when Tathiel finally said she could push, she pushed. The small body thrust forth, his shoulders turning slightly as Tathiel guided his passage. He slid forth, and Tathiel wrapped him quickly in a cloth, placing him on Narawen’s belly. Narawen let go of Tinánia then, and wrapped her arms around her new son; tears of joy spilling down her cheeks.

“ _Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo, tithen min_ ,” she murmured, cuddling him close to her breast.

Tathiel rubbed him briskly, and he drew his first breath. He let forth the smallest of cries, and then his fist was in his mouth and he was snuggled in his mother’s arms. Tathiel deftly cut and tied the cord, and delivered the afterbirth. That done, she cleaned Narawen and settled her upon the blankets.

Narawen still partially reclined against Tinánia, who could not take her eyes from the infant, but now Alagos was present too, with his arms wrapped around his mother, stroking her hair and staring unabashedly at this little one he would call brother. They whispered softly to each other, and to the new little one who would grace their home.

The child was fair, the downy hair of his head the color of summer wheat, with eyes of blue to match his mother. For his mother he favored, in coloring and feature. He was tiny, smaller in size than most at birth, but appeared healthy despite his precipitous entry into the world.

Tathiel smiled at the picture before her. Ethiwen and Rawien were watching quietly from the entrance as they all appreciated the wonder of new life. Eärundra sat off to the side. She had not made a sound the whole time; nor had she taken her eyes off the scene before her. She quietly crept forward, settling herself next to her sister and gently stroked the baby’s downy head.

“Have you named him, My Lady?”

Narawen smiled at Alagos. “His brother and I have decided he shall be Legolas, our Greenleaf, for the Greenwood shall be his home, no matter where life may lead him.”

“Legolas it is then. It is a fine name,” Tathiel stroked his head gently.

Tathiel took a gown from Narawen’s pack and cut open the front, then used ties cut from the bottom of her gown to lace up the front. This would provide ease for nursing. Tathiel sat back, deciding to give Narawen time with this new little one before she would finish dressing them.

She stepped to the mouth of the cave, and saw Urithral, Calardan and Sadron in the distance, setting up camp.

“Where is Elryndel?” She asked

Rawien motioned her outside, and out of hearing range of those inside. “Elryndel fell.”

“Oh,” Tathiel breathed, as no words came that she might use to express her grief. She had not known Elryndel well, but he had long served the King as a warrior of his realm. His death would deeply grieve them all.

“We had to leave him there,” Rawien spoke softly, his voice tight. “Sadron said the knife was to the left chest, and he made no movement. I pray to the Valar he was dead, “ he ended harshly.

Oh, Rawien,” Tathiel reached out to him, the compassion in her voice nearly undoing what control he still maintained. But, he allowed her to hold him, comfort him. No sound escaped him, but gradually she felt his body relax and he pulled away from her.

“Go back to the Queen and care for her. Be prepared to leave in haste, should the need arise. There are two daggers next to your medicine chest….”

Tathiel started at this, but Rawien gently took her by the shoulders. “Narawen knows what she must do. You must know also, if she is unable. We will never let the children be taken alive, nor the Queen. Every warrior is taught the harsh truth that it is better to die by friendly hands than be forever tormented in an Orc den or the evil hands of their captains.”

Tathiel floundered, wondered if she could do this thing, wondered if she would know if it should be done. She drew a deep breath, finally raising her eyes to meet his and nodded her understanding. She wondered if understanding would be enough.

“May you never have need to do such a thing,” Rawien gently touched her cheek, then turned and walked away.

Tathiel returned to the cave. Ethiwen was hugging her girls, urging them to be brave and to obey Tathiel. Quiet tears ran down Eärundra face, but she made not a sound as her mother bid her farewell for the night.

“Ethiwen,” Narawen stopped her. “I know you go to fight tonight,” she said, reaching up to stroke Ethiwen’s cheek. “Thank you. I am sorry you must do this. We will watch over your young ones. May the Valar protect you all.”’

Ethiwen squeezed Narawen’s hand and knelt down to kiss her on the forehead. “I do what I must. Rest and be well, dearest friend. They shall not get past us.” Ethiwen left silently into the dusk.

Tathiel took the child from Narawen’s arms and handed him to Alagos. She finished cleaning the blood from the stab wound, and gave Narawen a quick sponge bath before slipping the altered gown over her head. She placed a cloak around her shoulders, and eased her back down into the bed they had made for her.

She took the infant then, and unwrapped him from his birth cloth. He mewed softly at the air caressing his bare skin, but did not cry as she bathed and diapered him. She swaddled him snugly and laid him back in the arms of his mother, opening Narawen’s gown and guiding his small mouth to latch at his mother’s breast.

Then they waited.

***

Rawien stood watch at the campsite. The wagons, horses and the remainder of the party were spread about much as they had been on previous nights, conveying a sense of normalcy. They had camouflaged the approach to the cave as much as possible, so that to the untrained eye no path was present.

The sun had set and the moon was rising. The thunderstorms had cleansed the air and the smell was sweet. The elves lay awake on top of their bedrolls, waiting.

Just before dawn the remainder of the Orcs they had battled only hours earlier attacked. Their approach was heard long before they arrived, as Orcs were not known for their stealth. The battle was predictable, as Orcs were also not know for their creativity, and the elves picked them off easily with arrows. Sadron received a deep gash to his left arm in a brief hand combat, and Calardan a flesh wound to the leg. All in all, they had fared well despite being outnumbered.

The sun rose, and the defenders ensured all were dead, quickly piling the bodies into a pyre and setting it aflame. Ethiwen had left this task to the men, and headed to the cave to reassure her children and bear the good news of a battle won.

The path to the cave entrance was undisturbed, and she had to move several large stones and branches away before stepping inside. It took several seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dark.

“Alagos?’”

Silence greeted her.

“Alagos?” she called a second time, a little louder.

Ethiwen moved further in, stumbling over a figure lying on the ground. It was Alagos. She turned him to his back, and recognized the fatal blow of an axe to his chest. The chest cavity was caved in, the internal organs exposed. Blood had soaked into the sand, its crimson hue darkening the ground.

Ethiwen felt bile rising in her throat, and she rose, blindly running for the opening in the cave wall.

“Ai!” Her cry carried to the campsite. All heads raised, and the grief and fear on her face led them to drop all but their weapons and race to her.

“Alagos is ……,” she choked, unable to say the word. She gripped Urithral’s tunic tightly, “I went no further…”

Rawien drew his sword and entered first. He saw Alagos, lying on his back where Ethiwen had turned him. He quickly turned away, shuttering his heart. He could not reflect right now on the son of his King – his Prince; a warrior he had trained from novice. He could not think how he had lost two of his warriors in as many days. He could not think of those things now, or the grief and guilt would overwhelm him. He breathed deeply, letting his eyes adjust to the dark and then motioned the others in to comb the cave.

“Narawen,” Ethiwen’s tone was flat. The crumpled body before her had a knife deeply embedded in the left chest, Narawen’s hands clutching the handle tightly. Her eyes were open, fear and panic reflecting her final thoughts. Ethiwen began to shake, staring at her friend, at her Queen. Urithral gently turned her away from the sight, pulling her close.

The cave was quickly searched, for it was small, but not a trace was found of Tathiel or the children. Their packs, bedrolls, all that had been brought into the cave with them was missing as well.

“Here!” Sadron called them over. Near the far side of the cave, booted footprints appeared. They seemed to drop from above, and then spread out. The elves, despite their light steps, had already shuffled enough sand to obscure most of them.

Rawien reached up and felt a ledge. He jumped, pulling himself up. Sunlight poured into the small space. There was an opening to the outside, leading away into the hills. The booted footprints surrounded the aperture, but were then swept away with branches hiding the direction they had fled.

Rawien looked down grimly at them all. “These prints are from the booted feet of men.”

Ethiwen crumpled to the ground, silent sobs racking her body. Urithral knelt beside her, encompassing her in his strong arms as tears ran unbidden down his own cheeks. Rawien, Calardan and Sadron sat with heads bowed, silent in their grief. But there was naught to ease their pain.

Their Queen and Prince were dead; their infant prince stolen his first day in the world. Despite his own grief at the loss of those he held dear, all Rawien could think of was his King. Whatever would he tell the King?

*******

**Author’s notes:**

****_nin muindor a mellon = my brother and friend_  
Naneth= Mother  
Tithen min = Little one  
Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo = A star shines upon the hour of our meeting   



	5. Return to Mirkwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

The sounds of Ethiwen’s sobs gradually diminished as Urithral rocked her gently in his arms. Mere minutes had elapsed since they had discovered the bodies of Queen Narawen and Prince Alagos, and the disappearance of Tathiel and the children, yet it felt as if an age had passed. Rawien drew in a deep cleansing breath, and willed his heart to beat normally. He reminded himself of his position and responsibility as captain. Though he had failed his king, he could not give in to his guilt and grief. Danger yet remained and lives were yet at risk.  
  
His eyes had been shut; he opened them now and surveyed the scene before him. Sadron stood at the entrance to the cave, his keen eyes keeping watch over the horses and camp – and his heart keeping watch over his friend Alagos. Calardan was kneeling beside the body of the queen, his body shaking silently.

Urithral lifted his head and placed a gentle kiss in his wife’s hair; his eyes then seeking Rawien’s. Unspoken words passed between them: they had to move on, choices must be made about their next steps.

“Calardan, Sadron,” Rawien’s voice was rough, “please see to the camp. Pack only the cart. The rest we leave.”

Calardan and Sadron moved silently to do his bidding. Rawien knelt beside the queen. He gently pried her stiff fingers from the hilt of the knife in her chest, and then removed the knife. Ethiwen silently joined him, tears still falling down her cheeks, and they removed the bloodied gown from her body. Ethiwen cleaned her with cloths, and then they wrapped her in her cloak, securing it snugly around her. Her hands they folded across her chest, and then Rawien smoothed her eyelids closed, forever shuttering them from the horror of death.

They turned to Alagos next; the damage to his body so great that they could not wash the blood from him, nor even remove the tattered tunic. Rawien wrapped him tenderly in his own cloak, for the prince had fallen upon his own and it bore the signs of his death.

The bodies were placed in the cart, a tarp protecting them from the sun.

Rawien gathered the five remaining travelers together. His gaze rested on Ethiwen, for he knew her mother’s heart, already wounded and battered, would vie against the logic of what they must do. Urithral knew this also, for his father’s heart was in the midst of its own battle.

“The traders are likely at the crossroads waiting for us. We must go to them and leave them the wagons and horses. We will ask them to deliver the ore to the palace, for now more than ever we have need of sound weapons. We will also seek what knowledge they may have of Orc activity in this area and elsewhere here on the Eastern plains, for if evil has returned in force here, it will return to the forest as well. We will seek information regarding the inhabitants of these hills, for someone has our children and we will not forsake them,” Rawien paused, noting that Ethiwen had raised her eyes to meet his. “But we must first return our dead to their families. Then we shall return with a proper hunting party for we are not a sufficient number to track them now.”

“I….”Ethiwen faltered, her hand fluttering in the air until caught and held by her husband. “But they will have days of travel ahead of us. We must seek them now, or we may not ever regain their trail.”

Rawien stared off in the sky, unwilling to meet her eyes, for he knew this to be true as well. His mind quickly assembled all the possible alternatives. They knew not the number or kind of those who had stolen the children. Five might be enough to reclaim what was theirs, but it also might not be….and Calardan was not a warrior. He had not the training for such a mission. They also could not abandon the bodies of their Queen and Prince. They could not split their small group, for two and three had less hope than five of accomplishing either task.

“We must follow Rawien’s plan,” Urithral’s hoarse voice broke into Rawien’s own internal discussion. “All other alternatives have little hope of success. We must pray the Valar will protect them until we can return for them.” The last words were a mere whisper.

A small cry broke from Ethiwen, but she did not speak. She was a warrior too long to disobey orders, and in this time of battle Rawien was again her captain.

As the others finished breaking camp, Rawien went once more to the cave. He found the opening in the ceiling, and once more pulled himself through into the small upper chamber. He followed the light again to the outside, and surveyed the hills. He combed the area, seeing several small paths that might have been taken. The cave was at the base of the hills; the hills then grew taller and more rugged; the paths more difficult.

“I will return for you, Tathiel, for you and the little ones. Protect them well,” he whispered his promise to the hills and then returned to the camp.

* * *

The traders had seen the smoke from the pyre and come to investigate. The crossroads meeting point was less than a league from the camp, and the men came upon the elves before they had finished preparations to leave.

“I am Gerick, son of Adros. What has happened here?” inquired the first man who reached them.

Rawien stepped forward. “I am Rawien of the Woodland Realm. We were attacked by Orcs yesterday, a few leagues west of here. They followed us here and attacked before dawn this morning.”

The man’s face was grim. “This is the third attack in recent days. I am sorry. Do you have wounded?”

Rawien answered, “We have no serious injuries. Orcs have been a problem, then. When did this begin?”

“The first attack was on mid-summer’s eve,” Gerick replied. “None of our people have lived during such times when the Orcs patrolled the hills. They have been of history, of legend only.”

“Who else lives in these hills?”

“Men. Dwarves. Why do you ask?” Gerick inquired. He had met elves only one time before, and found them slightly intimidating. This one was clearly a soldier, and he felt the beginning of an interrogation.

Rawien studied the man, watching his body language and eyes. The man appeared honest and genuinely concerned by what had happened. Other men had gathered behind him, listening. Sensing no deceit, Rawien replied, “The Orcs attacked our camp ere dawn this morn. We routed them quickly and left none alive. Women and children we left in a nearby cave, with but one guard. The cave was undisturbed by Orcs. We found two slain, and the rest taken when we returned.”

Gerick appeared confused, “How were some taken and some slain, if the Orcs did not reach them?”

“There is a small chamber in the top of the cave that opens to the northeast, into the hills. We chose the cave quickly, as we expected another attack. We did not know of this entrance. Only because booted prints appeared in the sand without trail did we look upwards,” Rawien replied, watching all the men carefully.

All appeared surprised by the news.

“The boots were not of Orc kind?” Gerick asked.

“No,” Rawien replied. “They were of the kind worn by man.”

“Please allow me a moment to speak to my men, “Gerick requested formally.

Rawien nodded, and the man motioned his men back to their wagons. The elves stood together, their keen sense of hearing allowed them to hear most of what was said. Normally Rawien would not choose to listen in on a private conversation, but under such circumstances he felt no remorse.

“…..the hill-men might know of such an entrance, who else would?”

“Yes, but they are not violent, they would not kill……..”

“….not say who was killed…kill a guard….women and children?”

“They probably didn’t know they were elves….never seen one….”

“…..the…men might take them for their village….old practice….but many losses ……”

“…offer to help….want something in return….I am sure they would ….price?”

Gerick walked back to where the elves were standing.

“There is a tribe of hill-men who many years ago would steal women and children from other villages,” Gerick began. “In some times it was a sign of wealth, when having more wives or children brought prestige; but mostly it was because of bad times – because women and children had died of hunger or cold or disease. This was a quick way to replace them. I have not heard of this happening in my time, but some of my men have heard that the hill men suffered losses several winters in a row due to cold and illness.”

Rawien nodded, urging the man to continue.

“But we do not think they would kill them. Those who were slain, were they guards?”

“One was, yes,” Rawien replied. “The other was a female.”

Gerick frowned. “It would not benefit them to kill a female. I can only think that she resisted or injured one of them first.”

Rawien considered this. Narawen may have struggled mightily if someone had just killed Alagos or was taking her infant son from her. “How would these men be armed?. Of what type are their weapons?”

“Clubs, axes, hunting knives,” Gerick thought. “They would not be so much weapons as tools for hunting or felling trees.”

Rawien paused for a moment, his eyes meeting Urithral’s in some unspoken agreement.

“We must return to our realm,” Rawien said. “We must return our dead to their families, and we have not the numbers to track these hill men. We have need yet of the ore you bring, but cannot bring it with us.”

Gerick nodded.

Rawien continued, “ I have two requests of you: one, that you take our wagons and deliver the ore to King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm; and two – that you would spare your best tracker to find where these hill men have taken our people. We shall return within a fortnight.”

“Both can be done,” Gerick replied. “I caution you: the hill men will not wish to release your people. In a fight, you would win but you may find harm has befallen those you wish safe. They may accept a trade or payment instead. I urge you to consider such a thing. They are a simple people; they will not require much.”

“We shall consider this,” Rawien replied.

Gerick and Rawien laid their plans and arranged a meeting place where they might meet up with the tracker. By noon, the elves were heading west on their return to Mirkwood.

***

Sadron and Rawien approached the rocks cautiously. Orcs still littered the ground nearby, left from the battle of the afternoon before. Elryndel lay where he fell. Much to their surprise, his body was not mutilated. The storm and then the chase had drawn the Orcs away.

“There is little blood,” Sadron said quietly. “I am glad he died quickly.”

This third body was also cleaned and wrapped in his cloak, his eyes closed for the final time. They placed him in the cart, and continued their journey back to Mirkwood.

***

“Each cart has but two wheels. We have now repaired three. Thankfully only one more can still fail,” Laerion reasoned out loud to himself.

“The stable master will be returned carts in far better condition than they departed,” said Orchalthon grimly. “Either these have not gone any distance in some time and have not been maintained, or I would believe we have been sabotaged.”

Thranduil was less kind about the condition of the carts, but he controlled his tirade for the sake of his young daughter.

“I will be re-negotiating the rental price,” Thranduil raised one eyebrow. “The stable master may owe us money for the fine repairs to his carts.”

Orchalthon smiled as he and Thranduil reached for yet another barrel to reload into the cart. “I am beginning to recognize each individual barrel; we have moved them so much,” he grunted as they lifted it into place.

Thranduil looked at the sky. “We have now lost nearly three days. If we continue at this rate, my son will be born before I return. I can carry the celebratory wine right from the cart to the cradle.”

The cart was loaded – again - and the small party made camp for the night in a small clearing at the edge of the forest.

Elumeril was sitting near the fire, listening to Orchalthon sing, when her eyes caught a glimpse of movement just within the border of the forest. She stood and walked closer to the edge, venturing several feet under the canopy of the trees. The trees were whispering, but not the greetings and music she was accustomed to. The trees were upset, whispers of warning going out from tree trunk to branch.

“ _Ada_ ,” she called softly. “Come, there is something wrong with the trees!”

Thranduil and Laerion were immediately at her side. The warning and whispers were unmistakable to those who had heard them before. In the distance Laerion first saw the green slits that glowed, then moved over and blinked on again.

“The spiders have returned,” Laerion said quietly. The whispers of the tree rose and their leaves shook and a feeling of anger could be felt growing around them.

“The Darkness has returned.”

***

The return journey from the Iron Hills to Laketown was undertaken in less than half the time it took for the eastward trip. Rawien maintained a steady pace, working the horses hard but not exhausting them. While reassured somewhat that the most likely explanation for who held Tathiel and the children were men who would not wish harm to them, they still desired to return as quickly as possible.

They skirted the northern tip of Long Lake and the city of Laketown early on the third day, and headed south towards the Forest River. They encountered no other elves as they turned westward and caught up with the river just beyond the Long Marshes. They entered the canopy of the forest on the eve of the fourth day.

Rawien halted the group and all were silent as they surveyed the forest. All but Sadron had lived long enough to recognize the change in the air and voices of the trees. “The Darkness has returned,” Rawien said simply.

It was midday on the fifth day when they were spotted by the Palace Guard. Sadron had raised the Mirkwood banner, and an escort met them outside the palace gates.

“Greetings, Rawien,” Galithon, the senior guard, greeted him cautiously, for the pain and grief on the faces of the five was easily read.

“Galithon,” Rawien answered. “Has the King returned?”

Galithon let out a sigh of relief. “The King is not with you?”

Rawien shook his head. “I am sorry, my friend. You could not know that our group had split. You have seen no sign of him? I would have expected him back yesterday or this morn.”

“No,” Galithon replied. “You are the first to return. Grief weighs heavily upon you all. Darkness has returned to the forest; we have felt its presence for some days now. Is naught else wrong?”

“Let us return to the palace. I am afraid Prince Bregolas must be the one to hear the news.”

The small party entered the palace gates. All elves that saw the group felt the grief radiating from them. They stopped at the Great Hall, the crowd behind them growing. Elenath, the oldest daughter of King Thranduil, came running through the trees, stopping as she approached the group and saw the sorrow in their faces. Ethiwen gasped at the sight of her, and turned her face away.

“What has happened….” Elenath started. Rawien was off his horse immediately.

“Please join your brother in the Hall,” he gently turned her and motioned for one of the Palace Guards to escort her inside.

“Find Celebrinduil and Lathron and escort them to the Great Hall, if they are not already there,” Rawien quietly commanded others of the guard. “Glaurnost, please guard the cart while we are inside.”

Rawien led the five into the Great Hall. The herald looked at Urithral, unsure suddenly of how to announce him. Rawien pushed open the door bereft of formal announcement, and approached Prince Bregolas.

The smile of greeting on Bregolas’ face faded as he beheld the members of his fathers traveling party. His hands shook as he stood and approached them.

“Bregolas, it would be best if we speak to you alone,” Rawien began quietly. Elenath and Celebrinduil were standing nearby. “Where is Lathron?”

“He is in his chamber. He has been….troubled. Where is the Queen? Where is my father,” he demanded, the edge in his voice growing.

“Your father should be on his way here, as we speak,” Rawien answered, keeping his voice low. “He met the Dorwinian caravan to the south, near the Old Forest Road. Your mother….and brother Alagos…,”Rawien closed his eyes for a brief second, “were killed five days ago in the Iron Hills.”

Bregolas felt as if all air had been sucked from his lungs. Rawien steadied him, allowing him a moment to grasp the enormity of what he had just been told.

“My father does not yet know this,” he stated.

“No. I expected he would be here already. He must have met with delay.”

Bregolas was silent, his mind spinning. “I need to sit down.”

Lathron had been brought to the Great Hall, and stood with his brother and sister. His face was pale and troubled. The three waited silently; tears already slipping expectantly down Elenath’s cheeks.

Rawien escorted him to where his siblings stood, and motioned for chairs to be brought. “Would you like me to tell them?” Bregolas nodded.

“Your father took Elumeril with Orchalthon and Laerion to meet the wine traders near the Old Forest Road. I expect them to return soon. The rest of us traveled east, to the Iron Hills, to obtain the ores needed by our smiths. Orcs attacked us six days ago. Your mother was injured in a fall from the wagon, and gave birth to your brother that night. He was early, but well…..his name is Legolas.”

He paused, giving them a moment to digest this information.

“We secluded your mother, Tathiel and the children in a cave, and Alagos stood guard. We lured the Orcs to a decoy camp and routed them. The cave entrance was undisturbed, but when we entered we found your brother Alagos and your mother dead.”

Elenath cried out at this, and Lathron quickly gathered her into his arms. She shook, bewildered. She had not known death before, and could not imagine life without her mother. The four children of Thranduil and Narawen huddled together for a few moments; it was Lathron who broached the question.

“What of Legolas? What of the others in the cave – Tathiel, Tinánia, Eärundra?”

Rawien clenched his fists. “They were taken.”

“Taken by whom?” Bregolas demanded

“We believe local hill men watched us from atop the hill. They dropped into the cave through a secret entrance. Alagos was killed. I do not know why they killed your mother. She may have tried to defend Alagos; she may have resisted in some other way. The traders believe that they may have taken Tathiel and the children to adopt them as part of their village, to replace women and children lost in the hard winters; not to harm them.”

Ethiwen sat down next to Lathron and Elenath, and wrapped her arms around them. Elenath clung to her, then raised her eyes. “Oh Ethiwen, your children! I am sorry!”

Urithral approached Rawien and Bregolas. “If I may advise you?” he asked Bregolas, continuing when Bregolas nodded.

“We need to send guards immediately to escort the King and Elumeril here. Once he has arrived, we need to make haste to return to the Iron Hills. A local tracker has already been sent to find the trail, if they can.”

Bregolas nodded and Rawien gave the order.

***

Messengers were sent immediately down the Forest river, meeting King Thranduil’s party one day’s journey by cart out of the palace. The message asked simply that the King be escorted with all due haste back to the palace. Thranduil took Elumeril before him on his horse, and raced to the palace.

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind: the darkness had returned; evil had returned again to Mirkwood. All of his panic led him to one person: Narawen.

He entered the palace gates and leapt from the horse, carrying Elumeril down with him. He strode swiftly into the Great Hall and stopped abruptly at the sight before him.

Two bodies were laid out on biers before him; Bregolas, Lathron, Celebrinduil and Elenath standing watch alongside. Thranduil swallowed his own cry, and quickly picked Elumeril up and pressed her close to him as he walked slowly forward. Four grief-stricken faces turned to him, and he tried to speak, but found no words. Elumeril had begun to sob, and Lathron reached for her. Thranduil released her, and took several slow steps to the bier bearing the body of his beloved. He fell to his knees on a bench before it, and grasping her hands in his began to weep.  



	6. The King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

In that moment Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, understood how one might die of grief. He beheld the body of his beloved Narawen, and his soul shattered. A moment later his mind registered that the second bier held the body of his son Alagos, and his heart broke. He thought then of the one unborn, and heard his spirit cry out it could take no more.

It was the grief of his children that reminded him he was still a father.

It was the sudden burning desire to know what disaster befell his people and the fate of the rest of the party that reminded him he was still the king.

He was yet a father whose children needed him. He was yet a King whose people looked to him.

And so he raised his head from the bier and wiped the tears from his face. He gathered his five remaining children to him, whispered soft words of reassurance and bid Bregolas to lead them to the family quarters and await him there. Then he turned and walked to his throne and sat, and looked upon the few who had been allowed into the Great Hall. His eyes fell to Urithral, his advisor of many years; whose grief was etched deeply in the lines of his face.

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

Thus it was Urithral who first told him of the birth of his son. His heart sparked with joy at this, only to fade into sorrow, and then anger, to learn that his child and Urithral’s two were captives.

Thranduil dismissed his herald and advisors, and sat, head bowed, awaiting his Captain and the plans for the rescue of the captive elves. His thoughts and grief turned again to Narawen.

He would never forget he was yet a husband, and his wife would await him in Valinor.

And in his heart, along with his sorrow and grief, burned also a desire for vengeance. His long distrust of men had proven true at great cost.

***

The sun had not yet risen when the 10 warriors met at the palace gates. They knew not how long their journey might be, nor what they might encounter. Extra horses held supplies for several months travel, including winter clothes and other items that might be needed by the four when they were found.

Rawien had consented to Ethiwen as a member of the party and the King had not objected. A fully trained warrior, she had the skills needed for the endeavor. As mother of two of the four, she had a motivation of cataclysmic proportion.

The other members were carefully chosen as well. Laerion and Sadron from the original party, great friends of Alagos; Galithon, the senior of the King’s guard, was a superior tracker, Varandil a skilled healer; Bellion renowned for his strength; Elunell for her keen senses; Lachthoniel for his survival skills; and Meren for her bowmanship.

Thranduil stood near the palace gates. Rawien approached him, and bowed.

“My King, I have failed you greatly. I shall not return until I have the ones we seek, or know of a surety their fate.”

“Not all circumstances can be foreseen, my friend. I blame you not. Go with the blessings and hopes of all Mirkwood,” Thranduil paused. “I hope to soon meet my son.”  



	7. Tathiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

Tathiel’s eyes burned with unshed tears and anger. She clutched Legolas tighter to her breast, her other arm steadying Eärundra before her. Eärundra’s tunic was rent, and a red wheal visible from the strap that had just been laid to her back. A second blow caught Tathiel across the shoulders; prepared for it, she did not waver. Legolas began to fuss, and the man walking behind Tathiel rapped her back with the strap again and grunted. The infant cried out then, and the man grabbed Tathiel by the cloak, forcing her to halt. He twisted her around until she was facing him, and gestured to the child. Tathiel put her finger to Legolas’ mouth, indicating to the man the child was hungry. He reached to the front of her tunic, and tore it down the front, nearly knocking the infant from her arms. She instinctively grasped Legolas tighter, and pulled away from her captor. He grabbed her tight by the arm, and pushed the infant to her breast. Tathiel glared at him, her anger and fear growing.

Their captors had driven them relentlessly through the night hours; stopping only once near dawn. No food or water was offered to the captives; the gags across their mouths left in place. Eärundra had stumbled and fallen as they resumed their march, receiving as payment a blow from a short strap to her back. Tathiel had not seen the blow coming, but had pulled the child closer to her and caught the second strike across her own shoulders. Tinánia plodded on ahead of them. Unable to speak and prevented from looking at Tathiel, their fears and weariness were evidenced from body language alone.

The man called softly to the others in the party and all halted. The leader walked back to the captives and the men spoke again in their language, the one gesturing again to the child. The leader grabbed Tathiel by the arm.

“I will take the gag from your mouth. If you cry out I will kill the child. Do you understand me?” he asked in the common tongue.

Tathiel nodded that she understood, and the gag was removed. She motioned to Eärundra and Tinánia. “The children, also?” she whispered.

He motioned for the gags to be removed as Tathiel whispered, “ _Caro al can, tithen min_.”

“The children need food and water,” Tathiel turned to the leader again, continuing in the common tongue.

“You can give them whatever is in their packs. Do it quickly. If you are going to nurse the brat, do it now,” the leader answered brusquely.

Tathiel helped Eärundra take her pack off, easing it carefully around the wheal on her back; Tinánia removed her own. “Drink only a little water from your skins. Here; eat just a bit of the lembas. You do not need much.” The girls did as she bade them; their faces drawn and their eyes dull. She held them close for a moment. “Do not despair. We are not forsaken,” she whispered.

Tathiel sipped her water and ate lembas; the whole time her mind racing as she considered what to do about Legolas. Their captors thought he was her child, and she did not know if that was of benefit or mattered not at all. Of greater concern was her ability to feed this child. She could not think of a time when a female elf had been unable to nurse her infant; in human women, where death in childbirth was an unfortunate but not uncommon tragedy, the need for wet nurses was common. She had helped induce milk in new mothers who produced poorly; she had also heard of women who were not lactating being stimulated to produce milk merely by suckling. She hoped these things would work in a she-elf too, for if she were unable to feed Legolas he would surely die.

Tathiel hurriedly took her cloak and fashioned a sling to carry the baby, wrapping it around her back and positioning the child for easy feeding and to free her arms. She then found her herb chest, and mixed herself a concoction that she hoped would help stimulate milk production. She dipped a clean bit of cloth in water and dripped water into the infant’s mouth several times, and then put him in the sling and to her breast. He latched on, and suckled and she prayed silently to the Valar that she might soon have milk to feed him.

The men rested and ate and drank as well. For the most part they paid no attention to their captives, although a guard sat near them at all times. Tathiel sat upon a stump, rocking Legolas gently. Eärundra and Tinánia sat together on the ground before her, leaning against her legs as they dozed, exhausted. Tathiel felt tears gathering in her eyes as she tried again to comprehend what had happened.

They had to have known of the cave. She wondered if they may have lain in wait in that small chamber above the main cavern. They had attacked when all was calm inside. Alagos was watching at the cave entrance, silent and hidden in the shadows; his eyes on the camp in the distance. Narawen had fallen asleep, as had Tinánia and Eärundra. Tathiel had organized their packs as Rawien directed, that they might leave in haste if needed. Legolas she held in her arms as he slept. The men had dropped silently from above with only muffled thumps as their feet landed on sandy soil. Alagos had heard that noise and turned to seek the source. The axe caught him full in the chest as he turned, crushing the bones and tearing open the cavity as the axe was pulled back. Narawen awakened when a foul hand covered her mouth; she saw her son fall and she struggled, biting the hand that covered her mouth and gouging at the eyes of her captor. The man had driven his dagger deep into her chest rather than allow her to make a sound, and she died grasping that knife. Tathiel had also turned at the soft noise, and felt a sharp blade at her neck and a hand over mouth. Eärundra and Tinánia were wakened roughly, and the three were quickly gagged, and then lifted up to the secret chamber. Their captors had grabbed all the packs and supplies in the cavern, and Tathiel, Tinánia and Eärundra carried their packs and bedrolls on their backs. They had been prodded unmercifully along without rest for the entire night.

She could not comprehend that Narawen was dead. Her queen, her friend, as close as a sister. She could not comprehend that Alagos was dead. She was there when he was born. She had helped to raise him; watched every accomplishment with pride. She pushed the images of dear friends from her mind. She could not grieve now.

She stroked Eärundra’s head absently. Surely their warriors were searching for them even now. She did not know exactly how, but she knew she needed to leave some sort of token. She would have to be sure she was not seen, for the threat was already made that Legolas would pay for her disobedience.

Tathiel studied the men during the short break. She counted nine, each armed with either axe, club or whip. They had spoken little amongst themselves; what words she had caught had been in a tongue foreign to her. Only the leader had spoken in the common tongue. It was obvious they were familiar with the hills, the many turns and twists of the paths taken unerringly. She wondered what these men wanted with them. She prayed she would be able to protect these little ones until help arrived. That help would come she did not question. Elves did not forsake their own.

The leader whistled softly and all the men rose to their feet, shouldering packs. Tathiel rose also, and helped the girls to their feet. The hoods of their cloaks were still up, and she whispered to them to keep them so, to keep their ears hidden. Tinánia shouldered her pack, and Tathiel gently eased Eärundra’s on to her back. The leader called another order in the language she did not understand, and they were again gagged.

“Keep the child quiet,” the leader commanded her in the common tongue.

They walked deep into the hills, not stopping until near dusk of that first day. The men set up camp, lighting a small fire for cooking. Tathiel sat apart with the children, the rock face of the hill sheltering them on one side. Tinánia and Eärundra sipped their water and ate a corner of lembas, falling asleep soon after, their eyes shuttered in exhaustion. Tathiel fed Legolas water and then put him to her breast again, hoping at least to comfort him. She fixed her dress that had been torn that morning. Then, exhausted, she too fell asleep.

***

For five more days they traveled to the east, climbing through the hills on some paths well worn and others difficult to follow. Their captors gagged them only occasionally; Tathiel once hearing a faint voice and another time the hoof beats of a horse although at neither time did she sense that the ones who passed by were elves. The captives were neither beaten nor abused by their captors after that first morning. The men stayed to themselves, the leader conversing with Tathiel only to give orders in the common tongue.

Legolas had begun to fuss and cry by the second day, and Tathiel had reluctantly dissolved a few crumbs of the waybread into water and fed that to him. Fortunately it seemed to agree with him and he was content for some long hours. She still put him to suckle every few hours, and late the fourth day she finally noted drops of milk. She supplemented the milk with the waybread for only a few more days until he began to nurse regularly. She marveled, that whether with the help of the herbs, the stimulation of suckling by the baby, or merely a blessing of the Valar, her body which had known no male and borne no child could yet furnish this little one with all he needed.

Her fear that she might lose this precious son of the queen gradually diminished. He was for the most part a content baby and she was thankful. She did not doubt that the hill men would have killed him had she cried out for help, or if he had cried overmuch. In him she held on to a bit of Narawen and Alagos. She loved him in his own right too; a love that was deepening evermore as she fed him of her body. Yet she wanted nothing more than to return all three of these little ones home and into the loving arms of their parents.

Tinánia and Eärundra had spoken little in those first five days. Eärundra’s wound had healed within a day, but the shock of the experience in the cave had rendered her nearly speechless. Several times at night she had awakened in bad dreams, calling for her mother, and Tathiel slept little that she might respond immediately to calm and comfort her. Tinánia spoke no words, but her eyes missed little. Tathiel noted her watching the men, where each one was and what they were doing at all times. She looked up often at the position of the sun, moon and stars; and Tathiel smiled as she saw the child scuffing rocks together in what looked like boredom but was actually a rune for others to follow.

Tathiel had attempted to speak on two occasions to the leader, to find out who they were and what they wanted with her and children. Both times he had silenced her with a raise of the hand and a sharp look. She too had surreptitiously left small marks at their rest sites – bits of leaves that the lembas had been wrapped in; a small strip of cloth left fallen in the grass when she fashioned clean swaddling for Legolas. Even Eärundra had picked up the game and would disturb the ground and vegetation around her in small ways.

The morning of the sixth day the leader motioned that they again be gagged. They were kept in the middle of the line this time, with men all around them. After several hours they approached a small village. It had but a few thatched huts, and fewer inhabitants. Two of the men who had always led the group parted company, with a few small pieces of silver given them by the leader. Tathiel suspected they had been guides, and she memorized their faces in her mind.

The leader then led the group south, marching for several hours until a rest was called for the noon meal. This time when the leader came to remove the gag from her mouth, he brought food with him and sat down to speak with her.

“You will eat our food from now on,” he said in the common tongue. He gave her pieces of dried meat and fruit, and motioned that she should share this with the children.

“My name is Balak, son of Ban. My father is the head of our village.”

Tathiel had set Legolas to nurse beneath her cloak, and now chewed a small piece of meat the man had given her. She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye.

“What does Balak son of Ban want with me and my children?” she inquired neutrally.

“You will become part of the village,” Balak answered nonchalantly, pausing to eat another piece of the meat.

“We already belong to our own village,” Tathiel replied.

Balak stared at her. “You and these,” he said, motioning at the children, “now belong to our village.”

“I do not understand why you would wish that we become part of your village?” Tathiel argued. “We are not of your people. We wish to return to our own kind.”

“Our village is in need of women. Many we have lost to sickness. You have children already,” he pointed again to the children. “You will have more and our village will grow.”

He paused again, staring at her. “You are strong and fair. Your children have much stamina. Your seed will mix with our seed and our people will be hardier.”

“The first and second born do not mix in this way,” Tathiel replied, shock in her eyes. “It is a rare thing to do so and cannot be commanded or forced!”

Balak appeared confused by her comment, and finally waved his hand at her. “Who is to say which among us was born first?”

And Tathiel realized that he did indeed believe they were of the same race.

Balak finished his meal and stood to leave.

“I will not bind your mouths if you remain quiet. We have entered into lands long known to my fathers. Those who live here will not aid you. I will present you to my father in three days.”

***

Two days later they passed near the open mouth of a large cave. The ground in front of it was well trod, and paths led away from the opening in several directions. Balak nodded at several men he saw, but did not stop or speak to them. All eyes followed them; their stares boring into Tathiel’s back. They followed the southeast path, the trees finally obscuring the cave behind them. Balak stopped as he saw before him an old dwarf.

The dwarf was indeed quite old, his beard and hair snowy white and braided to his waist. He sat upon a flat rock smoking his pipe, watching them with keen interest. As Balak approached, the dwarf used his walking stick to help push himself to his feet and bowed slightly before the man.

“Balak son of Ban,” he greeted him solemnly.

‘Ain, son of Alon,” Balak returned the greeting.

Ain gestured to Tathiel and the children. “Did you go so far as the Greenwood to kidnap these of the first born?” he questioned, his voice gruff but his eyes dancing.

Balak appeared confused again. “What is this you call them? The first born? The woman used those same words earlier and I do not understand their meaning.”

The old dwarf threw back his head and laughed. The laughter dissolved into coughing, and the old man had to sip from his water skin before he could continue. He walked back towards Tathiel, but stopped before Tinánia, who was closer to his height. He reached to push the cloak from her head, but Tathiel grabbed the material and stopped him.

Ain laughed again. “So the she-elf is hiding this from you!” he said gleefully.

He twisted Tathiel’s wrist until her grasp broke from the cloth and pushed the cloak back from Tinánia’s face. He smoothed her hair back behind her ears, exposing the delicately pointed tips.

“They are elves, Balak! Have you never seen an elf?” Ain roared again.

Balak stepped before the child, and grasped her face in his hands, turning her head from side to side. Tinánia reddened slightly at the close inspection, but did not cry out or pull away. Balak did the same to Eärundra, and then approached Tathiel. He pushed the cloak from her head and examined her ears.

“Show me the baby,” he demanded.

Tathiel carefully unwrapped Legolas from her cloak and pulled the swaddling away from his head. The ear tips were less noticeable on one so young, but unmistakably pointed.

Balak took a step backward. Then, without warning, he drew back his hand and struck Tathiel across the face.

All heard the sound of hand striking flesh, and any of his men who had not been paying close attention to the conversation found themselves drawn to the incident unfolding before them. Tathiel’s head jerked from the force of his hand, but she did not stumble or cry out. A small trickle of blood ran from her lip. Balak raised his finger to her lips and wiped the drop of blood away. He stared at the blood on his finger, wondering how different she was from him, then returned his gaze to her.

“What does this mean?” he snarled at Ain.

Ain chuckled. “It means your father will not want them, nor should he. Elves are strange creatures, my friend. They are best left to their trees as they serve no other useful purpose.”

Balak growled. “I shall find a useful purpose,” he spat the words out. “I have not spent good silver to receive nothing for our labor.”

He glared again at Tathiel as Ain continued to grin.

“The men of the east might prize such as these for slaves,” Balak said slowly.

Ain just leaned upon his old stick and laughed merrily at the words as he turned and hobbled away.

*******

**Author’s note:**   
_Caro al can, tithen min = do not cry out, little ones_   



	8. The Village of Ban

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

Balak watched the dwarf hobble off in disgust. He ordered his men to move again; the she-elf and her children were prodded back in line by the one assigned to guard them.

Balak himself was chagrined. What had he done? He had kidnapped elves. How was he to know they were elves? He had never seen one before. They were talked about in tales, but as if they were myth not real! He wondered if elves were as mighty of warriors as told in those tales; for if they were, his actions may have brought their wrath to his people. He suddenly feared them; even the she-elf and her children.

His mind wandered with what choices he had before him. He could let them go; surely they would find their way back to their people.

But they knew his name, knew who he was. Their warriors would come and kill him.

He could kill them. He looked at them, standing in the line, ready to march. He did not think he could slit the throats of children, be they elves or not. He did not want their blood on his hands.

He could sell them for slaves. This released him of their care and presence, and avoided the wrath of their people. His mind settled on this idea, for it seemed the most prudent to him.

Ban his father would be angry with him. Balak was the youngest son of his father. He had many skills but little hope for marriage. Even if he did marry, he would not be the one to carry on the family name or lead the village and their people. He had hoped that bringing women and children to the village would win the favor of his father and the council of elders. Their village had dwindled in numbers; and the tradition of adoption was a custom of their people from long ago. He felt suddenly that his actions may have done more to hurt their people than it ever could have helped.

Balak chose a favored campsite to stop for the night. They would reach the village of his people the next day, near mid-day. He tossed his bedroll as far from his elven captives as possible and laid himself out flat, staring through the canopy of leaves at the stars. If he were to change his course, he would need to decide it by morning. He could head farther south and then east. How far he would have to go to find those who would be interested in slaves he did not know. Yet, his father would find out about his actions. Hearing it from another than him would surely place him further in disfavor than going to his father and admitting his mistake. Ban would need to decide their fate. Balak felt suddenly relieved that his father would decide what was best to do. His decision made, he rolled to his side and went to sleep.

***

Tathiel settled the children into their bedrolls and set Legolas to nurse. He was becoming more attentive by the day, bright blue eyes sparkling as he focused more on the happenings around him. He was feeding well, and already she could measure his growth. Now as she lay down to rest, his tiny hand twisted into her hair, and he cuddled the strands to his face as he contentedly suckled at her breast.

Tathiel did not sleep that night. She felt a foreboding for the meeting with Ban, that the fate determined for them would take them farther yet from their woodland home and kin; and into dangers from which she could not protect these little ones. She fingered the small dagger that was tucked into her boot. Balak’s men had not searched them, supposing that females and children would not carry weapons. Rawien’s words weighed heavy upon her mind: ‘Narawen knows what she must do. You must know also, if she is unable.’ She had nodded she understood _what_ she must do. Even now, in the predicament they were in, she did not know how she would know when she should do it, or how; and she did not know if she was capable. She stroked the silky hair of the infant in her arms, and kissed the tiny hand still entwined in her hair. Could she take his life?

Rawien had said that the Halls of Mandos were preferable to the endless torment in the den of an Orc. But these were not Orcs – they were men. Did the same decision still apply?

Should she end all of their lives as they slept, before she knew what the morrow would bring? What if the children were taken from her? She might be separated from them; leaving them to their own fate and have no other chance to do as she had been instructed she must. Tears flooded her eyes, and splashed gently from her cheeks to the head of the infant in her arms. Legolas let go of her breast and turned his face to hers. He cooed softly, his hand reaching to her face. His small fingers explored her eyes and nose and mouth with the sweet uncoordinated movements of the very young; his eyes sparkled and he smiled. Tathiel felt her heart melt as she watched his carefree movements.

“I think we will choose life, until there is no other option before us,” she murmured softly to him. “There is much for you to see and do in this life, little one, and many who await your homecoming. I will protect you as best I can and return you to your father as soon as I can; that is my promise to you and to Eärundra and Tinánia too.

Tathiel cuddled him close again, softly singing a lullaby, and waited for dawn to come.

***

The village of Ban was not much to behold. It’s proper name Tathiel never learned and she doubted it ever graced a map. A long stone house was the main building; smaller rock and thatched huts spread out around it. A small spring fed a creek that ran behind the stone house. Women and children were washing clothing and filling water jugs as they entered the village, and they quickly surrounded the arriving party. The return of Balak and his men was cause for excitement, and it seemed that every hut emptied to greet them as well. Tathiel and the children were cloaked, but their presence was immediately noted. Balak did not stop to speak to any of those that greeted him and pressed forward to the stone house. Balak motioned Tathiel to sit on a tree stump near the building and left several of the men to watch them. He then entered the building and the door closed behind him.

The villagers were curious about the strangers in their midst and several approached to peer at them more closely. Each time they were waved away by the guards. Voices were occasionally heard from within the building, rising and then falling again in intensity. As time pressed on Tathiel removed her pack, and motioned for Eärundra and Tinánia to do the same. She gave them a portion of lembas and water to drink while she fed Legolas. The villagers watched them from a distance; some leaving and then returning as one might watch an animal on display for entertainment, waiting to see what it would do next.

“Why do they watch us so?” Tathiel felt Eärundra’s warm breath on her cheek as she whispered in her ear.

Tathiel glanced up at the watchers. “They may seldom see anyone outside of those who live here. They are curious about us,” she answered softly.

The door to the stone house finally opened, and an older man with a striking resemblance to Balak approached the captives. Balak followed his father, his face slightly reddened but his head still held proudly. Tathiel rose as he approached, as did the children.

Tathiel did not know what an imposing figure she made as she stood, as she was taller than this old man. He did not like having to look up at her, and he did not like the proud look in her eyes. Ban was angry with his son for having wasted time and precious money on such an ill-considered idea instead of doing as he had been bidden. He had brought trouble to the village. Of this Ban was sure, for though he personally had little interaction with the elves, he knew of their skill in battle and he doubted not that the killing of two and abduction of four would enrage them.

In his heart Ban knew what he should do: set them free and perhaps even escort them to Laketown. Discipline his son or let the elves extract what satisfaction they wished.

Anger entered his heart instead, for in the courage it took for these she-elves to face him he saw arrogance. The fear that was hidden in their hearts he mistook for pride. Ban heard that elves were fair, strong and immortal; they suffered not from illness or old age; and they cared no longer for the troubles of others. He saw in his small village the ravages of hard winters and illness and death. Pity forsook him then, and his decision was made without the captives having any chance for a plea or request for mercy.

“Take them to Salo’s old hut and guard them there,” he said with eyes blazing. “I will find when the next caravans head east.”

With that grim pronouncement he turned his back and re-entered the stone house and closed the door.

***

The warriors of Mirkwood left the palace gates at dawn and followed the Forest River to Laketown. They followed the road north of the city, and headed upon the eastern trail they had taken only nine days earlier. The pace was hard, but not grueling. It was of no use to tire the horses so early into a journey of unknown duration.

The events of the prior week had heightened awareness of all in the party. Shadow had returned. They felt it strongly in the forest; and it intensified now again as they approached the site of the earlier Orc attack. Rawien halted the party a league from the rocks where Elryndel had fallen. Dusk was fast approaching; if the Orcs had returned to this den they could expect a nighttime attack. Camp was set at the top of a gently rolling hill. Laerion and Elunell took first watch as the others settled in for rest.

Elunell heard the unmistakable sounds of an approaching band of Orcs on the second watch. She alerted the camp with a low whistle, and all came to wakefulness immediately. Laerion and Sadron moved silently into defensive positions near the horses; the others spread out with weapons ready. Rawien moved near Elunell and watched the approach. His keen eyes detected nearly twenty-five attackers; most armed with swords and knife but at least several bows were present as well. Rawien motioned Meren and Bellion, the best distance shooters in the party, to the rise of the camp with permission to fire at will. Bellion released the first shot, taking down the first Orc in the pack. Meren quickly followed, picking off the one right behind him. The Orcs returned fire, and arrows flew in both directions.

Laerion and Sadron were soon in hand combat near the horses, and Rawien moved to assist them. Losing horses or supplies this early in the journey could severely hamper the success of their mission.

“Sadron, left!” Laerion called.

Sadron spun left, his knife cutting across the exposed neck of the approaching Orc. The Orc’s own longer sword slashed Sadron across the midriff as he collapsed, and Sadron fell to his knees. Laerion was to his back instantly, slashing through an attacker approaching Sadron from the rear. He saw another Orc raising his bow to fire upon Sadron at the same time, and then saw that Orc fall, neatly skewered by an Elf arrow from his right. Bellion had moved to a flank position with his bow and was firing nearly continuously at the Orcs as he gained clear shots; Meren had taken the other flank in a mirrored position. Laerion took down the remaining Orc near him and quickly scanned the horizon near him. He saw no more forthcoming, and turned his attention to the battle beyond him. Rawien and Galithon were firing at the few remaining Orcs as they fled back to their rock stronghold. Varandil was attending Lachthoniel, who had an arrow in the calf. Ethiwen and Elunell were approaching him. He turned his attention to Sadron.

“Sadron,” he dropped to his side.

Sadron was on his knees, his knife still in hand. Laerion took it from him and eased him to the ground. “You are supposed to move back when someone swings a sword at you,” he teased, bringing a small smile to Sadron’s face.

“I wish you had told me this before the battle,” he answered, his hands still covering the wound to his abdomen.

Ethiwen and Elunell set to help immediately, bringing blankets, bandages and clean water. Elunell examined the wound.

“It is not too deep,” she said at last. “I do not believe any organs are injured. We are going to clean this well and bandage it. How is the pain?”

“Present but tolerable,” Sadron admitted. “Just do not make me laugh. That hurts.”

Elunell smiled. This was Sadron’s first non-training injury. It was good he could maintain his sense of humor through it. She cleansed the wound, then bound it with Laerion helping Sadron to sit so she could wrap the clean linens around him.

Rawien and Galithon had returned from a brief chase towards the Orc den. Laerion sat on the ground with Sadron leaning against him as Elunell tied off the bandages.

“You are supposed to move away when someone swings a sword at you,” Galithon told Sadron helpfully.

“Do not make him laugh,” Laerion said as he laughed himself. “He has heard that lesson repeated once already.”

Rawien looked to Elunell, “How long?”

Elunell looked thoughtfully at Sadron. “One day,” she answered.

Rawien nodded and smiled encouragement to Sadron. “Rest, take something for the pain if you need it.”

Bellion and Meren were standing watch near Varandil as he attended Lachthoniel.

“Poisoned?” Rawien inquired.

“It appears clean,” Varandil replied, indicating the arrowhead and broken shaft on the ground.

Lachthoniel grinned up at him, “I can ride immediately.”

“I am sure you can. I think we will rest here the remainder of the night. I do not think any Orcs got away,” Rawien answered, “and any who did are not coming back here tonight.”

The injured tended, the others divided to clean up the area. Orc bodies were removed from the camp and piled a short distance away. Meren and Bellion walked around the battlefield, collecting arrows that might be reused or repaired. Laerion built up the fire and settled Sadron near it and Lachthoniel hobbled over that the two injured might keep each other company.

Galithon stood with Rawien, watching the moonrise.

“Where are your thoughts, my friend?” he finally asked.

Rawien was silent a few moments longer, before answering, “It was men who attacked those in the cave. I do not know that Orcs and shadow played a role. I am considering we have two enemies here; each with different purpose. Our immediate purpose is the return of the captives; but I sense the return of shadow will have far reaching consequences. In what way the two may intersect I do not know.”

“Let us hope that shadow does not prevent us from accomplishing our mission,” Galithon replied. “Battling Orcs across the plains will only slow us down and keep us from our purpose.”

When dawn came Sadron pronounced himself fit to ride. Varandil and Elunell examined the wound again and found it nearly closed, even the redness fading. “You heal fast, even for an elf,” Varandil said in surprise.

Sadron just smiled. “We have a job to do.”

***

Tathiel surveyed the inside of the hut silently. It had but one room, with a small table and two chairs and a dirty bed in the corner. Still, she supposed it might be better than sleeping outdoors. The nights were growing cool and it would offer some protection from the elements. She glanced out the small window. Their guard was seated outside near the door. He was not attentive and she felt he would likely fall into sleep. The hut was at least on the edge of the small village, affording them some privacy from prying eyes. The small creek ran just behind the hut, and a copse of woods stood on the other side of it.

Eärundra and Tinánia had carried their packs inside, and sat now on the two chairs, watching her patiently. This was as close to being alone as they had been since the night in the cave. Tathiel smiled at them, and then seated herself on the edge of the bed. She carefully removed her cloak and Legolas from the carrier she had fashioned. She changed his swaddling, and then looked at Tinánia.

“Will you hold him for me while I make up the bed?

Tinánia did not speak, but her eyes lit up and she held out her arms. Tathiel handed Legolas to her, positioning her arms and showing her the proper way to support his head. Eärundra moved quickly to her sister’s side as they looked enthralled upon the bright eyed cooing infant. He was awake and his eyes open, his little hand grabbing at strands of hair dangling in his face.

Tathiel spread their bedrolls over the dirty mattress, then took the water jugs near the door and opened the door. The guard jumped to his feet, but calmed when she held out the water jugs. He motioned her to the creek, where she quickly filled both large jugs. The hut had a small hearth, with some wood still piled near the door. She built a small fire, then heated water. She washed Legolas first, then helped Eärundra and Tinánia clean themselves and wash their hair. She bathed herself last, before tackling the clothes they had been traveling in. All of their packs had been dumped in the hut too, and in one of the spare ones she found relatively clean clothing for them to wear. Never had a bath and fresh clothing been more welcome. She hung their clothing to dry over the backs of the chairs and over the table. Tinánia and Eärundra sat on the bed with the baby, and she joined them. Now, in the privacy of the hut, two young elleth were finally able to ask their questions and share their fears and hopes for rescue; and their grief for they now knew death. Tathiel told them of the Halls of Mandos and how Manwë would keep Queen Narawen and Prince Alagos and Elryndel until they were healed of any hurts, and someday when they all went to Valinor they would see them again. She told them even now she was sure that the warriors of Mirkwood were searching for them, and their parents would be waiting for them to come home. She asked them to continue to be brave, for they had already been as brave as any elf could be, and to help her with baby Legolas, that this little prince might someday meet his father the King, who did not yet know him. With those reassurances and assignments, two tithen elleth fell into sound sleep and did not wake until morning.

Tathiel watched them drift into sound sleep and then turned her face to the window. The stars shone bright in the night sky, the same stars that she watched from the canopy of the forest. She hoped direction would come to her, what to do. She could survive in the wild, for a time, and then make her way home if they could but escape. The hut faced to the south. She wanted to go west – away from the stream and the woods behind her. She could head south into the lower hill country and then turn west. She would hope that help would be coming from that direction. With her thoughts set upon this hope, she too drifted into elvish dreams.  



	9. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

The Warriors of Mirkwood inspected again their abandoned campsite and the cave where the terror had begun. No new clues were found, and they moved quickly to the upper entrance to begin their tracking. Galithon took the lead and quickly found that the men had only taken care to conceal their tracks for perhaps the first hour of their travel.

“There are nine men, one elf and two elflings, and one pack horse unridden,” Galithon summarized after some time. “They moved at a good pace for some hours. No others but one have been this way, nor has rain fallen since.”

They continued for several hours, stopping at dusk for their own camp. Galithon inspected the site carefully, pocketing several items of interest. Once he deemed the site cleared, the elves began to set up their own camp.

Galithon approached Rawien as he tended the fire. He sat down beside him, and opened his hand. A tiny scrap of linen and a piece of broken leaf lay in his palm. Rawien looked carefully at the pieces.

“A piece of cloth likely used for swaddling an infant and a leaf in which was wrapped waybread,” he said softly. “Tathiel is leaving us tokens to follow.”

Galithon smiled. “Would you expect any less?”

“No. She is wise. She will weigh the risk of leaving us tokens against the harm that might occur to them,” Rawien replied. Inwardly, he smiled. He had very high expectations.

It was during the last watch of the night that Bellion roused the camp.

“Orcs,” he hissed quietly. “Not many; maybe ten, approaching from the east.”

The elves remained silent, and on guard. The Orcs stumbled upon them quite by accident. Too dark for arrows in the shadows of the hills and trees, they were defeated in hand combat quickly. The elves took no injuries except for a few bruises and scrapes which Varandil tended.

The elves resumed their tracking at first light, finding the tokens easily in the daylight.

“Here Tinánia left a scraping in the rock; they are nine captors and four captives,” Ethiwen called.

At the next campsite, “They are uninjured and the baby is well!”

On the fourth day of their tracking they came to the tattered huts of a small village of hill-men. Galithon noted that here the other one tracking them had ceased to follow. Rawien and Galithon approached the village, while the others remained hidden in the hills, bows drawn. A man came to meet them and they conversed in sign language and some semblance of the common tongue. It was here the elves learned that two had been guides and been paid for their time. The man denied the two who acted as guides were in the village, but out hunting.

Hidden in the brush, Laerion and Bellion watched the hills around them. With keen elven eyesight, they noted movement to the north of the village. Two men were approaching the village, concealing themselves in the brush and moving stealthily forward. Galithon and Rawien both noted the movement and positioned themselves so the man to whom they were speaking was between them and the approaching men. The man indicated he had nothing more to say, and turned to walk away. Rawien called to him, asking who the men were approaching them, and why they hid themselves? Bellion say the glint of the blade first, and loosed an arrow that took down the man holding it. Laerion’s arrow took down the second.

The village man stopped in his tracks, and slowly raised his hands, indicating he had no weapon. Meren and Ethiwen relieved Bellion and Laerion, who joined the others at the village. They searched the tattered huts, finding only a few women and children. Sadron and Elunell retrieved the bodies and brought them to the huts. One of the women fell to her knees, wailing in lament for the dead man who was apparently her husband. She raised angry eyes to the elves, but could not meet the calm stares that were returned.

“The men who hired these two,” Rawien pointed to the dead men, “when did they depart? Where is their village? You will answer these questions.”

The man was shaking in fear. Never had he seen an elf, and the intensity of the looks given to him aroused fear and shame in his heart. He told them all he knew, which was little. The leader thought he was stealthier than he really was. They knew his people to be to the east near the ore mines and his name was Balak. The man confirmed the captive elves were uninjured and they had an infant with them.

When they judged the man had told them all he knew, the elves departed. The women and children were dirty and ragged, and the elves pitied them. But the dead men had faced a just penalty for their crimes and they felt no remorse for their end.

“Even so I pity them,” Galithon said as they departed, “for there are at least some amongst them who are innocent and will suffer when winter comes and there is no hunter to bring home the kill.”

Ethiwen was tougher minded in her defense, “Pity them, yes, but I would expend all my energy in knowing that our own do not suffer hunger and privation this winter.”

The elves departed to the east, easily resuming the tracks and gaining steadily on the ones who preceded them.

***

Tathiel was awakened on the third morning in the hut by the sounds of someone opening the door. She quickly was to her feet, placing herself between the door and the bed where the children lay sleeping. She recognized the old man as Ban, the father of Balak. He had not spoken to them since he had pronounced his doom upon them two days earlier. They had been kept in the hut, away from prying eyes. The guards had brought them water, dried meats and fruits daily; this had been their only contact with the village.

Ban stared at her in the darkness, no emotion evident in his face. He had hardened his heart to the fate he had doomed them. He motioned her to sit. He disliked having to look up to a female.

Tathiel sat, her gaze still focusing unflinchingly upon the man before her. Ban hoped to intimidate her with his own glare, but found instead that he could not meet her eyes for long. This angered him more; but though he could not intimidate her with his presence, he still had the power of life and death, freedom or slavery, over her and her children.

“Pack your things,” Ban finally said. “My foolish son and his men will lead you to the south and east. You will join a caravan to the east, far from here.”

Tathiel started to speak, to argue with this man, but he raised his hand to her and pointed to the baby on the bed, “Any argument, any attempts to escape and I will crush his skull upon the rocks.”

A flood of emotions ran through Tathiel: anger, defiance, fear and finally acquiescence, for she knew she could not defend all the children should Ban or the others attempt to harm them. She lowered her gaze from him and rose, placing the children’s clothing into their packs.

Ban felt powerful, yet foolish. He had threatened a mother with the death of her son, and she had bowed to him. Yet she was a powerful elf, and he enjoyed making the powerful feel powerless – even if his tactics were underhanded.

“Balak will come for you,” he said as he rose and stalked out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

Tathiel breathed deeply and closed her eyes, calming her racing heart and slowing her breathing. She beckoned the children, awakened by Ban’s outburst, bidding them to dress and eat quickly as they would be leaving soon. She packed their packs carefully – including all the blankets from the extra packs; the warmest of the clothing; extra cloth for swaddling; cooking utensils and flint; lembas and daggers – until she had sorted the most important items into the packs the three of them would carry. She packed the extra packs as well, in the hope they would be brought with also. She had just finished when Balak came for them. Tathiel placed Legolas in the carrier and fastened it snugly to her chest, then put on her cloak and pack. She helped Eärundra and Tinánia do the same. She saw fear in their eyes, and she spoke softly to them, “ _na ber ad, tithen min_ ” as they left the small hut and headed again into the hills.

They traveled in the same fashion as before. Balak led the group; Tathiel and the children were near the back of the line with a guard behind them at all times. Balak did not speak to them, nor did any of the men. They had short rest stops when Tathiel could care for the infant and the children ate of their waybread. They traveled on roads well worn, with a horse and small cart this time. Tathiel was unsure of the purpose of the cart, but their extra packs had been tossed in it and for this she was grateful. They had been two days down this road when Balak motioned for a rest stop. He conversed briefly with his men, then left with one of them. They stayed at this spot for the afternoon, and when he did not return by dusk, the men made camp. No words were spoken to Tathiel. She sat with the children, Tinánia holding Legolas as she and her sister spoke softly and played baby games with him. Tathiel watched the men. They were now only four, with two sleeping. They did not seem perturbed by the length of time Balak and the other had been gone, so she assumed that things were moving according to his plan. As had become her wont, she laid escape plans for the situation they were in. She considered what she could carry, how fast they four of them could move; what weapons they had and what the motivation would be of their captors to reclaim or kill them. She also considered what she might do to harm or slow those that might pursue them. Thus far she felt their odds of success far too low to even consider such an attempt. But in this moment, when the number of captors was reduced to four and Balak as leader away from the camp, she saw the highest probability of success.

Tathiel took her herb chest from her pack, and withdrew some crushed root of valeria. She made some slight noise then, rousing the guard nearest to her. She motioned to the water they had heating on the fire, and he brought it to her. She had on several other occasions asked for hot water when they had it, and brewed it into a tea; no suspicion was raised by doing so this night. She poured herself the water; and in doing so slipped the root into the pot of water. The guard placed the pot back on the rocks near their fire.

Tathiel watched them all closely as the night wore on. She prepared the children to sleep, but bade Tinánia and Eärundra to silence but to stay awake. The men used the water to make their own hot drinks, and within a short time all four were soundly sleeping. Tathiel made a slight noise and no movement occurred. Breathing in a deep breath, she decided now was the time and she gently beckoned Tinánia and Eärundra to rise. She helped them slip their packs on, then tied Legolas’ sling around Tinánia until he was snug. She caressed him silently hoping he would make no noise, and to her relief he continued to sleep soundly. Tathiel slipped soundlessly to the cart, and grabbed the extra packs. She loosened the stake to which the horse was tied, and hung the packs over his sides. She motioned the children to her side, and silently left the camp, heading west and south. As soon as she was out of earshot of the camp, she lifted all three children to the back of the horse and quickened their pace.

***

Balak returned to camp at dawn, traders from the east in hand. It had taken some negotiation on his part to convince them to come see those he had to trade as slaves, for the eastern men were in disbelief as to the value of such slaves as three children and their mother.

He noticed first that all his men were soundly sleeping, and he kicked the first he saw. As that man roused slowly, he looked quickly around the camp. His elves were gone. The horse was gone. A low growl escaped him as he kicked each of the men awake.

“Where are they?” he demanded of the one he had left responsible.

The man was too sluggish to respond, and merely looked helplessly at Balak and the eastern men behind him. Balak felt the sharp blade at his throat and stopped, silent.

“What is this?” said the eastern man, slowly pressing the tip into Balak’s throat. “You have deceived us, my friend. Do not promise and then fail to deliver. It is a costly error.”

Balak sputtered, the pressure on his throat too great for him to speak. The eastern man motioned for his men to search the camp. They did so, finding no goods and no slaves as Balak had promised.

“You pay for your deceit with your life, son of Ban,” the man whispered in his ear as he slit Balak’s throat.

Balak gasped, and sagged to the ground as his life’s blood drained from him. As he drifted to death he realized his men had paid the price as well. The elf had beaten him after all.

*******

**Author’s note:**   
_na ber ad, tithen min ----- be brave again, little ones_   



	10. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

Galithon led the warriors of Mirkwood at a steady pace, following the trail of the hill-men ever eastward. The weather remained fair, the air crisp and the colors of the leaves changing to shades of red and gold. The days were shortening, and several mornings they awoke to light frost covering the earth. All evidence they gathered suggested that Tathiel, Tinánia, Eärundra and baby Legolas were faring well on the forced journey, and this gave their rescuers great hope and high spirits. On the second day past the village of the guides, Rawien led them on a slight detour to a mine. It was here that Rawien had agreed to meet the tracker the traders had lent to him. The traders had suspicions regarding which tribe of men had likely committed the murders and kidnapping, and had rightly predicted the course and direction of the hunt.

Rawien and Galithon approached the mine slowly, the other eight remaining hidden as before. Silence fell over the area as all stopped to watch the approaching elves. Most had never seen an elf, and the presence of two elven warriors was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. Gerick was present in the camp, as promised, and came immediately forward to greet the two.

“Rawien of the Woodland Realm,” Gerick greeted him formally. “I am glad that you have returned so quickly.”

“Gerick son of Adros,” Rawien replied. “King Thranduil bade me to express his gratitude for the assistance you have provided us. We have followed the trail to a small village two days west of here. Two men of this village acted as guides for those we seek. The trail of your tracker ended at this village. Have you word of him?”

Gerick looked troubled. “We have not heard from him. I had hoped that he might be with you or that you had brought us word that the trail had gone an unexpected direction.”

“No, my friend,” Rawien said, saddened. “We fear, then, that he has fallen. When we arrived at this village, two men came from the hills, armed, and seeking us harm. They were the guides and are no more, as I am afraid may be the fate of your friend as well. I am sorry we cannot help you look for him, but we must continue our own search.”

Gerick bowed slightly, “I thank you for the information. We shall ride out at dawn and seek his fate, for he has family here.”

Rawien and Galithon bowed in return, “Our thanks for you help and assistance. It shall not be forgotten.”

The entire meeting lasted only a few minutes in the clearing near the mine entrance. The elves disappeared into the wooded hills and were gone from sight so quickly that several of the men wondered if they had vanished into the air. Those few who witnessed the meeting told of the tale for long years to come, and none doubted them, for the King of the Woodland Realm never forgot the sacrifice of the tracker and remembered his family.

***

Ban woke during that first night after he had sent his son and elvish captives off to meet an eastern trading party with heart racing and his breaths short. He was sweating despite the cool of the night air, and very thirsty. He left his bed and poured himself a cup of water, drinking it slowly. He had a strong feeling of trepidation, and an overwhelming sense of fear for his son Balak. Balak had ever been headstrong and prone to foolish errors; but for all that he had been a good son and was a fine woodsman. Ban sat back on his bed, and leaned against the wall. He knew his decision to send the elves further away was ill-considered and that his own pride was to blame. His son’s inane choices, and the lack of fear in the she-elf had pushed his own restraint beyond recall. He did fear the outcome. He did not know what he could do, though, and so he covered himself back up in his bed, and drowsed fitfully until morning.

***

Rawien and Galithon rejoined the remainder of their party in the hills, and shared what little information they had learned. They did fear that the tracker had been killed just outside that village. This knowledge was both sickening and disheartening: while the men they tracked did not seem overly intelligent, as evidenced by the clear trail they had left behind, they also did not fear to kill those who interfered with them. This made them slightly unpredictable, and an unpredictable foe was in some ways more dangerous than the most predictable of deadly known enemies.

The elves rejoined the trail as it passed now to the north and east of the guide’s village. They kept to the trail until well after dark, finally making camp in a small sheltered clearing. Ethiwen sat by herself, a little away from the fire and the company of her fellow warriors. It had been many years since she had ridden with a war party. She had not missed it, for she had the care of her two young elflings to see to, and the training of many of the novices had been delegated to her considerable skill. On this night, however, there was nowhere else she wished to be but on this trail. She felt her heart quicken at the thought of having her daughters back in her arms. Were she at home, even in the tender embrace of her husband, she would not be so content as she was lying under the stars in these untamed hills. It felt good to be doing something. She allowed her mind to wander to Urithral as she wondered how he was faring at home, waiting. She felt the touch of his mind, and did her best to soothe it, to reassure him that the hunt was progressing well. She then turned her mind to her children. Her link with them was strong, but had never been tested so far apart. She sensed them, but little of their well-being. She turned her thoughts to them, willing her love and light to them, and hoped it would strengthen and encourage them.

Ethiwen sensed the presence of another approaching her, and opened her eyes. Galithon approached her with a share of rations. She had forgotten about eating, and she smiled at him in greeting.

“Thank you, Galithon,” she said appreciatively, taking the offering.

“You are welcome,” Galithon replied, settling down easily next to her. “How do you fare this eve?”

Ethiwen paused, “I am thankful that I am here with all of you this eve, and not home wondering what might be happening,” she answered truthfully.

Galithon smiled wryly at her. “We need no incentive to seek those missing, but we are glad you are with us. I look forward to seeing your face the moment your daughters lay eyes upon the their mother.”

Ethiwen felt the tears gathering in her eyes, and looked quickly away and to the stars, willing the droplets to stay in her eyes. She felt a warm arm encircle her and she accepted the embrace, burying her face in the tunic of the warrior who had trained her centuries before.

“I did not come to make you cry, dear one,” Galithon whispered in her ear, stroking her hair tenderly. “I hope that the picture in your mind right now is that which I just described – the look on the faces of you beloved daughters when they first see you. Hold on to that, for you know that they are clinging to the picture of their mother that they carry in their minds.

Ethiwen did not reply, and indeed, no answer was expected. Galithon held her gently as she regained control of her breathing and she relaxed. He kissed her forehead and wiped the tears from her cheeks, and then returned to the fire and conversation of the others. Ethiwen laid herself down on her bedroll, and with that image of the faces of her daughters fixed in her mind, drifted into dreams of reunion.

***

Bregolas and Lathron sat on the balcony of Lathron’s room, sipping from goblets of wine and watching as the sun slowly set in the western sky. They had been sitting together without speaking for some minutes, the silence companionable in a manner that occurs between those very comfortable in the presence of the other.

As brothers Bregolas and Lathron were as different as any two could be. Bregolas was confident, aggressive and commanding. He had been raised as heir to his father’s throne, never doubting that he was capable and never questioning his right to the position. He had trained as a warrior, and fought in his youth against the Orcs and spiders that had long threatened the forest of Greenwood. His father had been well pleased with his performance as warrior, and began bringing Bregolas to court as a young elf, just past his coming of age. Thranduil his father trusted him to act on his behalf, and Bregolas flourished in the praise of his sire.

Lathron was quiet and soft spoken, listening far more than speaking. He seemed to sense the feelings and needs of others; the first to compliment an accomplishment, offer an encouragement, or lend a hand. He was tenderhearted, but not thin-skinned. It mattered not to him if others thought his brothers’ temperaments were more fitting to the House of Oropher; he sought not to compete with his brothers. He had always been close to his mother, the Queen Narawen, and it was she that encouraged him to the pursuit of knowledge and understanding. It was Narawen that he spoke to about the dreams and visions that visited him unexpectedly.

Both felt the loss of their mother deeply. Bregolas grieved openly, accepting the comfort that she was in the Halls of Mandos and they would be reunited in Valinor one day. He worried, though, for others in the family. It was Narawen that had softened their father, bringing light and love to the palace and the heart of the King. Thranduil suffered the loss of his wife with dignity, yet it was obvious to his children that his heart was broken. Lathron also felt that part of his heart was missing, and he did not know if he would feel whole again. His caring spirit was always seeking to the comfort of others, and Elenath and Elumeril benefited greatly from the love and care he poured into them. Yet Bregolas feared for him, for while he saw to the needs of others, he did not speak of his own feelings or needs.

“Our brother is nearly three weeks in this world,” Bregolas stated softly.

Lathron did not respond. His eyes were closed, and he sat perfectly still, as if listening to words spoken far away.

Bregolas watched him, taking another sip of his wine. He set the cup down, and turned to face Lathron. “Lathron,” he said gently.

Lathron still did not respond. Bregolas stood and walked the few feet to his brother’s chair, sinking gracefully to his knees next to him. He reached one hand out and touched his brothers hands, clasped loosely in his lap. Lathron shifted slightly, and then clasped Bregolas’ hand to him. His eyes opened, and he met Bregolas’ gaze solidly.

“He has the eyes of our mother, and favors her,” he whispered. “He is a content child, and he is loved. He has known naught but love since his birth.”

Bregolas started to draw back from Lathron, his eyes reflecting his concern over his brother’s words. Lathron clasped his hand tighter, holding him near.

“How do you know this? Is this what someone told you?” Bregolas questioned, thinking to comments that perhaps Ethiwen or Rawien had said. He had heard no description of the infant.

“I see him,” Lathron said slowly, “in dreams. Just glimpses of him.”

Bregolas was silent. He did not doubt his brother; he just did not know what to say.

“I feel such guilt, Bregolas,” Lathron sighed, his head down, no longer meeting Bregolas’ gaze.

“Guilt for what?” Bregolas questioned.

“I had a dream prior to _Naneth_ leaving. We were meeting in Valinor, and I had not seen her for so long. She was beautiful still, and so full of joy,” Lathron explained. “She appeared then in my vision, with danger near, but she did not seek help from me. Perhaps if I had interpreted the dreams correctly I might have warned her. I did not understand.”

Bregolas was quiet for a moment. He spoke as gently as he could, but firmly, “Lathron, what happened is no more your fault than the setting of the sun this eve or it’s rising in the morn. Father blames himself for letting them go; Rawien believes he failed them for not foreseeing the events that happened; Urithral believes he should have suspected more than Orcs were present. I am sure if I put my mind to it, I can put some blame on myself too. The only ones to blame for the deaths of our mother and brother are the ones that killed them. The only ones to blame for the captivity of our infant brother and the ellyth are the ones who have taken them. We may yet learn from this and our knowledge may prevent a similar occurrence in the future, but our new knowledge was not purchased with carelessness.”

Lathron squeezed his brother’s hand tightly, his shoulders shaking silently. Bregolas wrapped his arms around his brother, and the two sat in the dark as Lathron’s tears rolled silently down his cheeks, dampening the tunic of his brother as he finally released his sorrow.

Below the balcony, standing silently in the garden that Narawen had so loved, Thranduil listened to the confessions and grief of his sons. His own tears flowed freely, as they had each day since he had beheld the bodies of his wife and son. He wondered if the ache in his heart would ever lessen. He wondered if he would ever behold his last child, the son he had just learned would favor the mother he would not meet in this world. Despite the words of his oldest son, he wondered if he would ever feel free of the guilt, for he knew that it was upon himself that the blame ultimately rested.

***

Ethiwen woke suddenly, her heart beating wildly. She had heard Eärundra cry out to her. She looked around quickly, and noted the others all still resting. Elunell was on watch, and came to her, concerned.

“Ethiwen?” she inquired softly.

Ethiwen looked around again, scanning the whole of the camp and the woods and hills around them. She looked at Elunell, who was watching her closely. “Did you hear a cry? The cry of a child?” she asked her.

Elunell shook her head. “No, it has been quiet. Perhaps you had a dream?”

Ethiwen lay back down, closing her eyes and calming her breathing. “ It was Eärundra. She called to me. She was scared,” she said finally.

Elunell did not answer. She seated herself next to Ethiwen, and pulled the blanket back over her. She leaned against the rock that Ethiwen lay next to, and settled herself to finish her watch. Ethiwen smiled her gratitude, and willed herself back into rest.  



	11. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

Tathiel led the horse silently into the night. She headed in an eastwardly direction, determining that this was the last direction Balak would suspect she had gone. He had gone south, the village of Ban was to the north, and west…...well, west was home. She would not take the obvious route. So she snaked east, knowing that eventually she would need to make a decision to turn north or south and then backtrack west, towards home.

Tathiel was not an experienced tracker. Elves by nature left little in the way of footprints, and Tathiel checked several times to ensure that at least any track she left were covered. The horse she could do little about. They needed the horse, and they needed to move at the best speed possible. She could not cover the impressions left by his hooves, and doubted that her attempts would mislead an experienced tracker anyway. Her best hope was that Balak would decide not to follow her. She had read the situation and actually heard much that occurred between Balak and his father, Ban. Ban was very displeased with his son’s actions. In many ways she knew they were being sold to the easterners as a means of saving face. She hoped their escape, while a harsh blow to Balak’s pride, would also provide him a way out of the current situation.

They walked all that night, Tinánia and Eärundra riding silently on the horse. Tinánia held Legolas to her in the cloak carrier, and Eärundra sat behind her, with her arms wrapped around her sister’s waist. Both appeared to sleep at times, and Tathiel would slow and walk next to the horse that she might steady them if they began to slip. The night air was very cool, and their breath made little wisps of white in the air. Tathiel had wrapped the infant snugly at their first rest stop. Legolas did not appear in the least bit troubled by his change of circumstance. He slept contentedly in Tinánia’s arms, and minded not the slight bounce of the horse’s walk.

As the dawn broke, Tathiel guided the horse off the trail they were following. She chose a secluded spot well off the path, with low growing shrubs and vines to obstruct the view of any passing by. She let the horse loose to graze on what he might find. The beast nuzzled her under the chin as she spoke to him. She thanked him for his help and asked forgiveness for a delay in caring for him, but the little ones needed attention first. The horse nickered to her, and she knew not if he understood as he was not an elvish horse, but he wandered close to the small camp and did not leave them.

Tall conifers sheltered a bed of soft pine needles, and here Tathiel spread their bedrolls. She dared not risk a fire with only a few hours distance between herself and her captors, and so they breakfasted on water and waybread. Tinánia and Eärundra crawled into their bedrolls and were soon fast asleep. Tathiel sat down on the soft pine needles and leaned up against a tree, setting Legolas to nurse. Her small dagger that had been tucked in her boot all throughout their captivity she now set next to her. She knew it was small protection, and admitted that it perhaps brought her more comfort than it offered her defense. Nonetheless, it was an asset and she counted it as such. She would take the time later to go through the packs and create a better mental list of all their assets. She knew the decision to escape had been the right one; however she now had other concerns that she had to consider. She was lacking in weapons, there were four to feed and the waybread would not hold out forever, and though she had no doubt that she could find her way home – the trees could be trusted to help her, she was sure, once she took a little time to speak with them –she did not know how long or perilous the journey might be.

So Tathiel sat as the young elleth slept, and she found herself growing tired as well. She had been alert for over twenty-four hours and though elves are renowned for great stamina, she was both unaccustomed to such rigors and she was nursing an elfling. It was nearing noon when she noted movement from the sleeping elleth, and then Tinánia disentangled herself and sat up. She looked around her, finally noting Tathiel sitting behind her against the tree. She smiled and crawled out of the blankets and sat next to Tathiel.

“Good afternoon, Tinánia,” Tathiel greeted her. She raised one hand and smoothed Tinánia hair back from her face, combing it into some sort of submission. “Did you rest well?”

Tinánia nodded. “Do you think they have followed us?”

“I do not know, _tithen min_ ,” Tathiel replied. “I have not heard sounds of anyone approaching, and this tree,” she patted the tree she leaned against, “has been quite forthcoming about this wood. It has not warned me of danger.”

Tinánia sat back and studied Tathiel for a moment. “I can sit watch while you sleep. You look very tired.”

Tathiel smiled at her. “I am very tired, Tinánia, and I think that I will need to accept your help. Two able to watch is much better than only one. Wake me if you need me.”

Tathiel settled herself into her bedroll with Legolas, and he nursed again, very warm and content snuggled in the blankets. Tathiel drifted into light sleep as Tinánia confidently took her first turn on guard duty.

Eärundra woke a short time later, and joined her sister. They sat in the sun that filtered through the trees to warm their faces. The two were very quiet, and they listened to the song the trees were singing.

“They are welcoming us,” Tinánia whispered to Eärundra. “They have not seen elves in a very long time.”

“They will warn us if danger approaches,” Eärundra answered solemnly. “I wonder if we might find some food, for Tathiel when she awakes?”

Tinánia moved silently to her pack and brought it back to where they were seated. She opened the pack, and withdrew the curved wood of her small bow. From another slender pouch she withdrew her small quiver, still filled with arrows, and the string for her bow. She carefully strung the bow, and then put on her quiver.

“You watch here,” she instructed Eärundra. “I will see if I can shoot us a rabbit.”

Eärundra watched as her sister slipped off silently into the woods, then reached for her own pack. She did not have a bow and arrows, but Alagos had given her a small knife to carry. She tucked the dagger into her boot, and resumed her sister’s watch.

Tinánia did not have to go far before she spotted her first quarry. She had practiced all those first days with Alagos and Sadron, and had been able to hit their targets about half of the time. Alagos had placed a small bead on her bow to help her line up her arrows. She placed an arrow to her bow, drew back the string, and let fly the arrow…….which missed. She waited for some long minutes until she found another rabbit, and then tried again. It was on her third try that she hit a rabbit. She grinned, feeling very much the mighty hunter. It wasn’t much, but it was dinner for the three of them.

She had wandered only a short distance from camp, and was nearly returned to it when she saw her sister watching her from the limbs of the tree. Tathiel stood on the ground with Legolas, and both returned her joyful smile as she held up her first kill.

Tathiel picked her up and hugged her. “I did not know you had such prowess with your bow!”

“Elumeril and I practiced many hours with Alagos and Sadron,” Tinánia grinned. “But this is the first time I hit a target that could move. I am so glad those men did not take my bow from me.”

Tinánia proudly cleaned her first kill under Tathiel’s instruction, and then oversaw its cooking on a small fire they dared to light. It was the first fresh meat they had eaten in a long while, and they savored every bite. Sated, they sat back and enjoyed the fading rays of the afternoon sunshine. Legolas seemed to sense their happiness, and he cooed and gurgled as he was handed around their small circle. He pulled on loose hair and grabbed at clothing and noses and lips, the smiles and love he received in return only serving to further his endeavors.

“I wish the Queen could see him,” Eärundra said sadly. “He is a beautiful elfling.”

Tathiel cuddled Legolas close. “She will meet him one day. You two will be able to tell Narawen all about her son when he was small. She will enjoy that very much.”

Their dinner over, Tathiel returned everything to their packs. She desired to move again during the night hours until she was certain they were not being followed. Tinánia opted to walk, her bow and quiver strung over her back and her knife tied against her calf. Tathiel settled Eärundra amongst the packs on the horse and slipped Legolas’ carrier around her small shoulders. Eärundra beamed at the responsibility to which she had been entrusted, and carefully held Legolas close to her small form with one arm, the other hand holding the pommel of the saddle. They set off into the darkness, the sun casting its last flickers of sun across their backs before disappearing for the night.

They traveled that night, rested during the day, and then resumed their journey the following eve. Tinánia proved herself the able young novice, sharing the watch with Tathiel and providing another rabbit the second day. They gathered the last of the fall berries, all they could carry, and had a wonderful blueberry and rabbit stew. This night they saved some of the pieces of meat and berries for the next day, and for that wonderful three days were able to withdraw no waybread from their supply.

The third night of the journey the decision to turn north or south was made for Tathiel – a steep cliff along the south side slid to a cavernous ravine on their north. Their only choice was to follow the narrow path eastward or turn back. Tathiel had not enough confidence that they were not being followed to turn back. And so they headed ever east, conscious of the narrow path and uneven footing. Tathiel pulled Eärundra off the horse to walk, and tied Legolas in his carrier around her shoulders. They could not continue in the dark on such treacherous footing, and so Tathiel made camp in a small hollow of the cliff wall. The extra rest was welcome and the young ellyth slept well. Tathiel remained seated against the smooth stone for all of the long night. The trees were quiet, and she felt fear for the first time since their escape.

The terrain was rugged and she feared would prove too difficult for the four of them, and perhaps especially for the horse. She knew they needed the horse, for his presence greatly increased the distance they could journey on a given day and the amount they could carry. Come morning, she decided, she would scout ahead a short distance and see if the going would prove more or less difficult. The decision to go forth or turn back might be out of her hands as well.

***

The elves approached the small village in the dark and quiet of the third watch of the night. One guard sat on duty near the outskirts of the village, his head bobbing up and down as he tried to keep himself awake. Resident animals raised no alarm; they did not sense danger from those approaching, and several dogs came out to meet them, snuggling noses against welcoming hands. The warriors spread out and covered the camp, peering in windows and searching the camp. Ethiwen looked into the hut that stood near the edge of the village by the creek. Finding it empty, she entered and quickly explored the room. The hut had recently been used; the table was clean and without much dust; the bed made and the floor appeared swept. She knelt down and searched the area around the bed. Her fingers touched upon a small trinket; she rolled it with her fingers and recognized the pattern of an engraved leaf. She picked it up, and left the hut. She motioned Galithon and Rawien to her, and in the light of the moon they examined the token.

“It is of the design of the Woodland Realm,” Galithon offered. “Do you recognize it?”

“It is a clasp off a cloak,” Ethiwen said quietly. “I do not recognize it from Tinánia or Eärundra’s cloaks, but perhaps Tathiel’s?”

Rawien studied it closely. “Perhaps. Her cloak had such ornamentation,” he answered.

Galithon and Ethiwen both watched him with mirth in their faces. He glanced at them, confused.

“What is humorous in this?” he asked

“We are wondering how you knew the ornamentation of the lady’s cloak?” Galithon grinned at him, nearly laughing aloud when Rawien blushed slightly.

“I have held her cloak for her…..I am not explaining myself to you!” he exclaimed as softly as he could. He waved them off abruptly, “Go, resume the search.”

With barely contained laughter, Galithon and Ethiwen continued to search the sleeping village. Bellion and Lachthoniel had been exploring the outside area of the stone building, assuming that the chief or leader of the group might be found inside. Bellion waved Galithon and Rawien over. They had determined that a single person was currently asleep in a large chamber at the far end of the building. Others slept as a family group at the near end.

“Let us visit with the one, and see what can be learned,” Rawien directed.

Thus it was that Ban was awakened from sound sleep in the middle of the night to the faces of four elven warriors, three of which had bows strung and arrows pointed at his face. He swallowed hard and glanced fearfully at the one holding his nightshirt in a tight grip to his throat.

“They are not here,” he croaked softly.

“Who is not here?” Rawien asked.

“The s.s.she-elf and her c.c.children. They are g.g.gone some days from here,” Ban stuttered out finally.

The warriors drew back as Rawien lifted Ban bodily from his bed and set him on his feet. The man trembled in fear. In his worst fears about the repercussions of this son’s stupidity, he had imagined the elves finding their village. Nothing in those fears had prepared him to face the reality of four angry elven warriors.

“Explain yourself,” Rawien demanded.

With much prodding Ban told the story of his foolish son Balak. The intimidation of an elven stare was more than any mere mortal could bear in most situations, and four angry stares caused him to quickly and with much duress tell the tale. Minutes later found him dressed and leading the party of elves down the same path he had sent his son on less than a week earlier. To his dismay, the four were joined surreptitiously by six more as they left the clearing of the village.

“Are there more?” he asked fearfully.

Rawien did not answer.

Ban led the elves down the road his son had taken. He spoke little, answering only the question directly asked of him. The elves did not mistreat him. He had been given water and food, and been allowed to sleep and move around freely. His own fear prevented him from moving without direct permission given. One of the she-warriors had interrogated him regarding the well-being of the two smaller captive she elves. He had answered the questions with his head bowed, unable to bear her elven stare upon him, much less meet her eyes. He wondered if she was a relative to them, but he dared not ask.

On horses they made much better time than the captives had, and came to the campsite of the men the following morning. Rawien saw the cart first, and held up one hand to halt the group. He dismounted, and with Bellion and Galithon approached the camp. A bird call a moment later caused the rest of the party to ride forward, Ban with them. The faces of the elves were impassive as they surveyed the scene. Ban, on the other hand, clearly showed the anguish on his face as he beheld the slain body of his son and the other men of his party.

“These are your men,” Rawien stated rather than questioned.

“My son,” Ban dropped down from his horse, and knelt next to the body of his son. Wild animals had damaged his body, but he was yet recognizable. The elves were examining the rest of the bodies.

“Their throats were slit as they lay in their bedrolls for these four. His son and the other were killed where they stood,” Galithon summarized. “The cart was left, but the horses were not. Nor were their packs left.”

“The trail leads this way,” Lachthoniel called. “At least ten men, and as many horses.”

“One horse went east,” Elunell reported. “Another west, but most south.”

Ethiwen slumped to the ground, her head hung, as she pieced the scene together. The slave traders had come and killed the men, and taken her daughters, Tathiel and the baby. Galithon and Elunell stood beside her, hands on her shoulders as she grieved this turn of circumstance. Standing, she allowed them to support her. The ten elves stood together, silent, as they considered the fate of the captives. They heard Ban’s soft weeping, and despite their own grief, their eyes met and an unspoken message passed between them. Rawien walked to Ban where he knelt still at the side of his dead son.

“If it is your wish to bury your dead here, we will assist you,” Rawien offered solemnly.

Ban raised red eyes to him, stunned by the words. “Do you plan to dig a grave for me as well?”

“No,” Rawien shook his head. “Your son has paid for his actions with his life and those of his men. On this day your suffering is much as ours. We will help you bury your dead, then we must continue to track the caravans south.”

So it was that the elves helped to dig a grave for the six men, and laid them in it, and placed a stone cairn over the top. Ban laid the last stone, then sagged down next to the small monument. Rawien stood next to him, his face again shuttered of any emotion.

“You show mercy when you should take my life as forfeit for the grievances of my kin against yours,” Ban admitted. “Please, that I might know, who are your people?”

“I am Rawien, captain of King Thranduil of the Elven Realm of Greenwood the Great,” Rawien answered. “The ones your son killed in the cave were wife and son to the King; the small one held captive is his infant son,” Rawien paused, one eyebrow arched at the look of horror that crossed Ban’s face. Letting this sink in, he finished, “The two young she-elves are daughters to the one who questioned you regarding their well being. The adult elf,” Rawien stopped, considering his words carefully, “will one day be my bride.”

Rawien stood and without a look back mounted his horse and followed the party of elves down the trail of the men of the east.

***

Tathiel woke Tinánia and Eärundra early the next morning, and bid them to eat and care for Legolas while she scouted briefly ahead on the trail. The path widened some distance ahead, and the ground seemed firmer and less treacherous. Returning to the children, she decided they would continue on at least one more day east.

Tathiel loaded their packs on to the horse, and wrapped Legolas in his carrier about her shoulders. Taking the horses reins, she moved forward into the rising sun. The path was easier for some way, and the ravine to their left gave way to a more gradual incline. Water could be heard trickling from a nearby spring, and Tinánia sought it out, finally locating the tiny spring and creek that flowed from it. She filled their water skins, handing them one by one back to Eärundra before climbing back to the path. They rested next to the spring, nibbling on waybread washed down with the cool spring water before continuing on their way.

The path turned south, and Tathiel noted that it was partially blocked with fallen stones and debris. Glancing up, she saw evidence of a rockslide. It did not appear fresh, so she slowly led the horse through the debris. Tinánia followed, and Eärundra lagged behind her, watching with delight squirrels racing up and down the trees.

Tathiel heard the rumble above her head, and glancing quickly up she saw small rocks beginning to fall from high above them. She tightened her grasp on Legolas and began to run, pulling on the reins of the horse while calling, “Tinánia! Eärundra! Run! Quickly, forward. Run!”

The children did as they were bid, even as the rocks began to pelt them about the head and shoulders. The rocks were sliding ahead of them and behind them, and Tathiel realized they could not outrun it. She let go of the horse, and flung herself against the rock wall, calling for the ellyth to do the same. Tinánia responded immediately, grabbing for Eärundra’s hand.

Eärundra’s hand slipped free, and she fell as a large rock knocked her to the ground. Tathiel and Tinánia watched in horror as the rocks quickly pelted all around her, and then they too were engulfed. Tathiel curled into a ball, protecting Legolas beneath her. She heard the cries of the elleth, and then her own voice joined them before darkness overcame them.  



	12. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

The warriors of Mirkwood sat in a circle around the small fire of their camp. No tales were told, and no songs sung, as the gravity of the circumstance in which they found themselves hung heavy about them all. A silent dinner had been eaten, and watches set, and all waited expectantly for Rawien as captain to open the discussion as to the course of action they would take.

“Discontinuing the search is not an option,” Rawien finally stated.

Nine sets of eyes met his and nine heads nodded in agreement. Rawien’s statement was clearly an observation of the obvious.

“Anyone who wishes to return to Mirkwood may do so,” Rawien offered.

Nine heads shook, indicating their desire to remain. None could walk away from that which they had begun.

“Then I believe we are heading east, to the area near Rhûn,” Galithon picked up the discussion. “The tracks of the easterners break up into many trails. With so many horses and booted feet, it is impossible to tell which splinter of the original group may have taken Tathiel and the children. The one thing we do believe to be true, though, is that they all will return to the east.”

“We will have little to guide us,” Rawien added. “We have limited maps of the area, and little information of the people. We can move somewhat faster than the caravans; I propose that we start after the largest. We will need to be on watch and careful at all times. Once we are sure our own are not in the caravan, we will move on to another.”

Ethiwen looked troubled. “It would be more efficient to split up,” she said finally.

“More efficient, yes,” Rawien replied kindly, “but not very wise. We are only ten. We cannot afford to be divided if trouble finds us.”

“We will stop in the trading village to the west of here, near the Carnen River. We will send word to King Thranduil of what we have learned, and our plans for pursuit. We will also need some supplies, which I hope to obtain there.

The ten were again silent, as they considered the trek they were to undertake. None had ever been to the lands of the east, and they knew very little about the men they might encounter. Decisions made, they laid themselves down to rest for the night. The next day would start a journey unlike any they had taken before.

***

Tathiel struggled towards wakefulness, her senses still dulled, seeing only darkness and hearing only silence. It was some moments before she convinced her eyes to open. She was laying curled in a ball and the world around her was gray. She attempted to straighten her limbs, and felt stabs of pain shoot up her legs and into her hips. She tried to push herself up with her arms, and almost screamed as agonizing pain ripped through her wrist and up her arm into her shoulder. She collapsed again to the ground, and heard next the very irate howl of a crying infant.

“Legolas!” her mind screamed, but all that came from her mouth was a hoarse whisper. She struggled to roll herself slightly to the arm that did not hurt so badly, and felt the baby move beneath her. As she moved to push herself upright with her good arm, she saw the debris and dust slide off of her and she immediately slumped herself over to protect the baby from being suffocated in the cloud of gray.

She tried to sit up again, this time wrapping her battered arm around the infant. Pain again burned through her and it took all her will to not cry out. She pushed herself into a more upright position, and finally found herself able to survey the mess around her.

Her right leg was pinned under a slab of rock, and debris coated her cloak and clothing. Her right arm was certainly broken; she wasn’t sure what damage she had done to her shoulder. She was bloody and bruised, and her hands lacerated from landing on them when she fell to the ground.

She pulled open the cloak, and beheld the screaming Legolas. His face was red and twisted in outrage. She coughed, finally clearing her throat of the dust that had nearly choked her.

“I am here, _tithen min_ ,” she soothed him, her own voice breaking with emotion. “Let me see if you are hurt, _tithen_ Legolas….shhh, _tithen min_.”

She continued to soothe him with her voice, her words calming her own racing heart and distracting her from the pain she was in. She unwrapped him from his swaddling, and with her good hand felt his limbs and ran her fingers down his torso and back. He did not flinch at any particular point of touch, and although he was quite dirty he did not appear to have any broken bones. He had dust in his eyes, and his little fists flailed as he cried in the pain of that.

Tathiel managed to remove her water skin from around her neck, and after some difficulty unscrewing the cap with only one hand, carefully poured the water onto the bridge of his nose, and let the flow run across the eyes and off his face. He blinked rapidly, the crying stopping at least momentarily at this new sensation. She gently pulled down the lower lid with her finger, careful of the grime on it, and flushed the eye again with water. Legolas quieted then, and contented himself by sucking on his thumb. He was still filthy and she remained concerned that she might have injured him when she fell, but his heartbeat was steady and his breathing regular, and she felt somewhat certain he was not seriously injured.

A moan to her left caught her attention next, and she saw Tinánia’s head rise slowly from the dust. She pushed herself upright, shaking the dust and small rocks from her hair and face.

“Tinánia!” Tathiel called to her. “I am right here. How badly are you hurt?”

Tinánia was silent for a few moments as she slowly moved each limb and moved to a sitting position. She coughed several times, clearing her throat of the dust before she could speak.

“I am not injured,” she finally answered. “I am bruised and cut, but I am not seriously hurt.”

Memory came to her then, and she felt again the horror of Eärundra’s hand slipping from hers and then seeing her younger sister collapse beneath the falling rocks.

“Where is Eärundra?” she cried frantically.

She crawled in the direction she had last seen Eärundra, pushing aside some of the larger rocks.

“Do you see her, Tinánia?” Tathiel called to her.

Tinánia was digging in the debris, carefully moving and then tossing aside rocks. She could see strands of dust-covered hair spread out over the stones, and she kept removing the layers of stones until she could see her sister.

“She is here” she called, “but she is not moving!

Tinánia finally uncovered Eärundra’s body, only one large stone still pinning her lower body to the ground. She brushed the dust from her sister’s mouth and nose, and blew air to remove the fine particles covering her eyes. She shook Eärundra by the upper arm, and was rewarded with a groan and then a small cry. Eärundra struggled to move, crying out when pain and resistance restricted her movements.

“Eärundra!” Tinánia tried to pierce the veil of confusion about her sister. “Eärundra, it is me. Do not fight me; let me help you! Do not try to move!”

Eärundra calmed a little then, and raised a hand to brush the lingering dust from her eyes. She finally worked them open, and her eyes fixed on her sister.

“Tinánia!” she coughed, then reached her free arm to grasp Tinánia. “What happened? I cannot move. I hurt all over,” she gasped as she tried to move and the pain again flowed through her.

“Stay still,” Tinánia answered her. She held her sister’s hand tight. “There was a rock slide. There is a big stone still on you. I will try to remove it in a moment.”

Tinánia suddenly realized Tathiel wasn’t helping her, hadn’t come over to even see Eärundra.

“Tathiel?”

Their eyes met, and Tinánia saw the pain reflected in Tathiel’s eyes. She noted the odd position in which Tathiel held herself, and the limp arm. Tinánia bit down on her lower lip as the thought ran through her mind that she was the only one uninjured. She had to help Tathiel, Eärundra and baby Legolas.

She turned back to Eärundra, who lay panting before her, her eyes closed. She also was in pain, and was concentrating on not crying out, on letting the pain flow through her and out of her.

“Eärundra,” Tinánia waited until Eärundra opened her eyes and focused on her. “I am going to move the rock off of you. I will try not to hurt you more.”

Eärundra nodded and drew in a deep breath as Tinánia scooted down to the rock. She first tried to lift it, but it was too heavy. She tried next to push it, but it wouldn’t budge. She cast a worried look at her sister, and Eärundra breathed again. She squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“I’ll be right back, _tithen muinthel_ ,” she patted her sister’s hand.

Tinánia dragged herself painfully to her feet, feeling all the cuts, scrapes and bruises on her own body. She stretched her limbs and then moved carefully off the rock-strewn path to the edge of the ravine. She found a broken limb from a tree, still fairly fresh and limber, and made her way back to her sister. She built up a small pile of medium sized stones next to Eärundra, and then placed the branch with one end under the large stone that pinned her sister, and the midway point of the branch over the small pile of stones.

Tinánia waited until Eärundra had caught her breath again, and when she nodded, Tinánia pushed with all her weight on the end of the stick. Miraculously, the stone lifted and began to shift to the side.

“Eärundra, you must move out!” Tinánia cried, straining against the rock. “I can not tip it!”

Eärundra gritted her teeth and with a small cry pulled herself backwards with her arms until she was clear of the rock. Tinánia released the lever, and the rock fell back where it had been. She rushed to Eärundra, who was breathing heavily, sweat soaking her hair and tunic, and tears of agony spilling down her face.

The leggings and lower part of the tunic were torn and dirty. Blood seeped from scrapes and cuts all along her lower body. Most distressing was a large open wound on her thigh, and the severe bruising of her hips and upper legs. Tinánia stepped back and removed her cloak, shaking as much dust from it as possible, and then covered her sister with it.

“I must help Tathiel. Rest. I will be right back.”

Tathiel had watched the rescue with vision dimmed by pain and helplessness. She could sense that Eärundra was severely injured and knew herself to be too. She felt fear, terrifying fear, that they would die in these hills. Die of their wounds, die of hunger, die of exposure. She hugged Legolas to her, tears spilling from her own eyes. The baby was calmer now, but his eyes remained beet red and small bruises now appeared on the fair skin of his chest and abdomen.

Tinánia approached Tathiel, and touched her gently on the shoulder. Tathiel looked up, eyes tearstained. She masked her face, hiding her fear, and smiled instead at the young one before her.

“How is Eärundra?” she asked. She could hear the occasional whimper escaping from Eärundra, and knew the child was in great pain.

“I think her legs are broken,” Tinánia whispered as she quickly assessed Tathiel’s situation. “I need to get this rock off your leg.”

Tathiel smiled at the bravery of this young elleth. She had become wise beyond her years very quickly. Perhaps there was some hope she at least might survive and make it home.

Tinania employed the same lever technique on the stone pinning Tathiel’s lower leg as she had on the stone that had pinned Eärundra’s. Tathiel was able to pull her leg free, and finally straighten her cramped and sore muscles into a more comfortable position. She slid her injured leg in front of her, and twisted until she was sitting upright, her back against the rock. It took her several moments of deep breathing, eyes closed, until the pain relented enough to speak again.

Tinánia stood, and looked around her. The horse lay on his side, but the rise and fall of his chest indicated he lived yet. She decided she must see to him, and then find Tathiel’s medicine chest. She would have to think about finding them shelter after that.

She approached the horse carefully, talking softly to it as she approached. The horse was quite battered, and seemed to have taken the worst hits of all. His two front legs were broken and he seemed also to have an injury to his back. The packs had fallen off of him, and she quickly located and dugout Tathiel’s medicine chest. She brought it to Tathiel, and then went in search of the splints she requested. She stopped where Eärundra lay, and comforted her.

“Tathiel has to splint her own leg, and then I will help her come to you and she will help you,” she said as she gently stroked her sister’s hair. “Just a little bit longer”

Tinania found wood of the right shape and size, and returned to Tathiel. While she was gone, Tathiel had mixed some herbs and water, and prepared a small vial for Eärundra.

“Have her drink all of this,” Tathiel instructed. “It will dull the pain. Try and get her to drink some water, too.”

Tathiel assessed the break in her leg. The fracture of her lower right leg was a simple fracture; the bone had not split apart and would not require any setting beyond a good splint and wrap. She had never broken a bone before, but had treated many. Elves healed fast, and she estimated she would be able to walk on it some within a week.

Her wrist had a similar break, but her shoulder was dislocated and needed to be pushed in place. Unfortunately, none of this could Tathiel do on her own. She instructed Tinánia, and it was the child who splinted her arm and leg, and with much consternation helped her push her shoulder back into place. Tinánia spent some time looking but finally found a staff that would serve as a crutch for Tathiel. She took Legolas and strapped his carrier to her own sore shoulders, and then helped Tathiel to stand.

It took Tathiel and Tinánia several minutes to cross the ten or so feet to Eärundra. She was dozing; her eyes shuttered from the painkiller Tinánia had given her. Whimpers still issued from her on occasion, and Tathiel’s eyes prickled with tears at the child’s request for “ _Nana_.”

“Oh, child, how I wish your _Nana_ was here too,” Tathiel murmured as she carefully lowered herself down next to Eärundra.

She used her good hand to examine the child, running her fingers up and down limbs, gently pressing and probing at ribs and vertebrae. The upper bone of her left leg was broken, and the bone itself had caused the wound when it poked through her leg. Tathiel did not believe the right leg was broken, just badly bruised. She felt the hip bones might be fractured as well, but there was naught to do about that except keep the child on her back and immobile.

“Lay Legolas down, Tinánia; I will need your help to set this leg,” Tathiel instructed.

Legolas was less than pleased at being removed from the warmth of Tinánia’s body, and began to cry as well. Tathiel took another quick look at him, noting again the bruises that likely occurred when she fell with him beneath her. She pondered the child for a moment, trying to assess the amount of pain he was in and the risks of giving him a pain-numbing drug as well. Opting for the drug, she quickly mixed up a tiny portion of the same potion she had given Eärundra and carefully poured it between Legolas’ lips. His face crinkled at the odd taste, his tongue pushing the liquid out.

“You are a stubborn one, _nín tithen caun_ ” Tathiel chastised him gently, stroking his throat as Tinánia held him. He finally swallowed the rest, and gazed at them for a moment before a yawn overcame him and sleepy eyes blinked shut. “The medicine will take effect in a little while, and he will stay sleeping.”

Turning their attention back to Eärundra, Tinánia found suitable splints and using her dagger carved them as Tathiel directed. Together they set the leg, the bones grinding into place, the awful noise punctuated by a short scream from Eärundra as the pain roused her from drugged sleep, then mercifully pushed her into oblivion. With tears of relief in their eyes, Tinánia and Tathiel quickly bandaged and splinted the leg.

“The horse,” Tinánia said, waving towards the suffering animal. “His front legs are broken.”

Tathiel felt another wave of fear wash over her at the thought of losing the horse. Eärundra would not be able to walk for some time, and without a horse to pull a litter or carry her, they had little hope of leaving this area for a long while. Tathiel looked at Tinánia. She would not ask the child to end the horse’s life. Instead she let Tinánia assist her to her feet, and leaning heavily with her good arm on the crutch, she bade Tinánia to stay with Legolas and Eärundra and hobbled over to the horse. She knelt down beside him, stroking his mane and scratching his nose and behind the ears. He whinnied softly.

“I am sorry, my friend,” she whispered. “You have served us well, and have not deserved to suffer in this way. Go to your rest in peace.”

She unsheathed her dagger, and finding the jugular, quickly slit the animal’s throat. Big eyes widened further and the horse gasped. Tathiel continued to stroke him and soothe him until the last breath issued from his lips.

Tathiel sat on the ground for several minutes, cradling the horse’s head in her lap. They had to find shelter. The afternoon sun was waning, and she could feel the temperature dropping. Normally unaffected by such changes, in their injured conditions she knew that exposure would further weaken and even kill them.

Tathiel struggled to her feet, wincing at the pain, and picked her way through the debris to Tinánia. She lowered herself carefully to sit on a rock, and looked at Tinánia as she sat holding Legolas once again. Tinánia met her gaze unblinking, waiting for her to speak.

“Our situation is grim,” Tathiel began. “I am glad you are with us, _ber min_ , for you a truly a _tithen maethor_ and we all need you greatly.”

Tinánia nodded solemnly, accepting the responsibility.

“We need to find shelter,” Tathiel continued. “Eärundra will have to be moved in a flat position, on a litter, so we must hope for a shelter close by. You must find the shelter, Tinánia, but you must be very cautious. I do not think there are Orcs in these hills, but I do not know for sure. There are most certainly bears and other wild animals, and you must be on watch for them. Ask the trees for help. They are fewer here than before, but perhaps they will tell you of danger. Move with all speed you can, for soon dark will be upon us.”

Tinánia rose stiffly to her feet, and carefully placed the sleeping Legolas back in Tathiel’s arms.

“I will go find something to use as poles for a litter first. Then I will go seek shelter.”

Tinánia adjusted her bow and quiver on her back, and checked to make sure she had her dagger. She quickly kissed her sister on the forehead, and then moved quietly off into the shallow ravine to their north.

Tathiel set Legolas to nurse, and even in his drowsy state he latched on and suckled. She rocked him gently, stroking his head and the little arm and hand that reached for her hair, finally grabbing hold of a few strands and nuzzling them to his chin. Tears fell from her eyes, carving dirty rivulets down her cheeks before landing on the downy but very dirty head of Legolas. His light hair cleansed where the drops fell, and little borders of mud formed at the edges of the tear marks.

“I did not mean to fail you, son of Narawen,” she whispered. “I did not mean for us to die alone in the wilderness. Oh, Elbereth, if you mean for these little ones to live, you must aid us! Otherwise I fear that we will all walk in the Halls of Mandos before winter’s end.”

Tathiel watched as Legolas drifted into a drugged sleep, and then she laid him near Eärundra. She took the poles Tinánia had brought back, and in her own pain she struggled to make a frame and attach a blanket and pine boughs to it. She couldn’t properly fasten the pieces together, for that she would need Tinánia’s two good hands. She allowed herself a small dose of the pain medication, and waited for Tinánia to return.

 

*******

**Author’s note:**  
 _tithen min = little one_  
nín tithen caun = my little prince  
nana = mother, mommy  
ber min = brave one  
tithen maethor = little warrior  



	13. Tinánia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

Tinánia turned and walked back down the path they had just come. She had briefly considered continuing in the direction they had been going, but decided against the unknown. She remembered having seen some hollows in the cliff wall that might be indicative of caves carved deeper in the rock face. She also recalled the small spring of water they had stopped at earlier; she hoped to find shelter near that spring. The area where Tathiel and Eärundra waited concerned her. She did not know why the rock slide had occurred, and felt fear that it could happen again. This thought spurred her quickly onward.

She soon came to the area she had been thinking of, and moved south along a narrow path to the shadowy cliff wall. She withdrew her dagger, and closing her eyes, listening to the trees whispering above her. They did not speak of danger. Encouraged, she began exploring the hollows. She ran her hand along the rock wall as she walked, and was surprised when her hand slipped. A small opening, almost like a door, opened in a cleft in the side of the hollow. It was not visible on approach. She slipped quietly inside, and waited while her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The space was of medium size, and dry. The unique entrance provided protection from the elements. Sunlight gleamed in through slits in the wall high above her. Tinánia felt her spirits rise and she quietly thanked the Valar and Eru himself for delivering her to this spot . She explored the interior of the cave, and noted to herself that there was no fallen rock; no bones left by any predator from his meal; and no evidence of any other inhabitants . She did not see any secret entrances; although the cave did meander into the hill for some feet, and a small cavern led deeper south. Tinánia would have had to crawl to move through it – and she decided quickly that she would not do that and hoped no unfriendly creature would wish to brave the narrow opening either.

Satisfied with what she had found, she shrugged her pack off her sore shoulders and kept only her bow and dagger. She would have to make several trips to move all of their packs to this spot; plus get firewood and water.

She returned to Tathiel just as the sun began to dip behind the treetops.

“Tathiel!” she called, a hint of excitement in her voice. “I have found a perfect place for our shelter. Eru himself must have placed it there for us; that is how good it is.”

Tathiel returned her smile, her own spirits rising at the hope she heard in Tinánia’s voice.

“Let us finish this litter, and then I will take you all there. I can come back for the packs,” Tinánia continued.

She was already on her knees next to her sister, whispering in Eärundra’s ear as she stroked her hair. Eärundra remained blissfully unaware, as Tathiel had hoped. She had dosed the pain medication heavy in the hopes of the child sleeping through both their treatment of her wounds and moving her to a safer place for the night.

Tinánia quickly saw how Tathiel had laid out the materials for the litter, and with small but strong hands she deftly bound the boughs and blankets to the poles. She looked at Tathiel, noting the tired sag of her shoulders and droop of her eyes.

‘I am a warrior,’ she told herself. ‘Everyone needs me, and even though I am small and young for an elf, I know what needs to be done. With the aid of the Valar, I can do it.’

She moved the rocks away from Eärundra, and slid the litter next to her. She straightened, eyeing her sister, pondering how she would get her onto the thing without hurting her or twisting her broken leg.

“If you help me, we will gently roll her to her side and I will hold her there while you slip the litter beneath her,” Tathiel offered, her eyes welling with tears as she beheld this _galu_ of a child.

Tinánia smiled. Yes, she thought, that would work.

Tathiel got carefully to the ground and when Tinánia shifted Eärundra carefully to her side, she held her there. Tinánia moved the litter over, and then they carefully slid the child over. Eärundra moaned as they moved her, but did not wake.

Once Eärundra was securely attached to the litter, Tinánia slid the baby and his carrier around her shoulders. She picked up the end of the travois with her hands, and once Tathiel had her balance on the crutch, they began the slow journey to their temporary refuge.

The sun had set and dark had fallen by the time they reached the cave. Tinánia again felt with her fingers along the rock face until they slid into the cleft. She was barely able to slide the litter through the entrance. She lowered the litter down against the wall, and placed the sleeping baby on the makeshift bed next to her sister. Tathiel struggled in a few minutes later, and nearly collapsed against the wall near the sleep-drugged children.

“Tinánia,” she murmured after a moment.

Tinánia knelt down beside her, and pressed herself gently against Tathiel’s uninjured left side. Tathiel stroked her hair, and kissed her forehead.

“You have done well, _ber nin_ ,” she whispered.

Tinánia glowed from the praise and let herself be cuddled for a moment.

“I must go for the packs,” she said at last. “I will gather some firewood when I return.”

Tathiel wished to tell her to stay; to rest; that she had done enough. But she instead kissed her again and said, “Be careful, _nin tithen maethor_. May the Valar watch over you.”

Tinánia went back out into the night with Tathiel’s cloak about her shoulders. She made four trips that night retrieving the packs, each time carrying in an armload of firewood. She made one last trip to the spring, and filled their water skins. Then, satisfied with the night’s work, she looked up at the star of Eärendil that had shone brightly on her all that eve, and thanked the Valar for protecting her.

When she returned to the cave for the last time, Tathiel had built a small fire in the spot on the cave floor that had been lit by the sun earlier that day. Eärundra and Legolas still slept, covered now with blankets. Bedrolls were spread next to them, and after Tinánia ate of her waybread and drank the clear spring water, she sank gratefully to her pallet and fell immediately to sleep.

***

Tathiel was awakened at dawn by the sound of Legolas crying. He had so seldom cried since his birth that the harsh sound tore at her heart. She turned painfully, and lifted him between her good arm and the splint, laying him in the curve of her body. She unwrapped his swaddling, and her own eyes filled with tears and she stifled her own cry as she beheld the bruises on his fair skin. They had deepened in the night, showing the extent of the injury, yet in the manner of the elves and their fast healing, already were fading to yellow.

Freed of his wrapping, Legolas kicked and flailed small feet and hands. His face was red from crying and tears ran down his cheeks. One eye was still a little inflamed, but it was open.

“ _Nín tithen caun_ , are you hungry or are you in pain?” she whispered as she inspected the bruises.

He grabbed her hair as she set him to nurse, and he latched on to her breast with such force that she gasped. “I guess you did miss a meal last night,” she winced. “I will try to see that that does not happen again!”

Legolas suckled intently, Tathiel’s hair wrapped in his fist, her promises falling on deaf ears as he filled his little stomach. When he had eaten his fill he graced her with a smile, cooing and gurgling as he kicked his feet and tugged on her hair.

“I think you are recovering well, _tithen min_ ,” Tathiel laughed, “and you need a bath. Never have I seen such a dirty _tithen caun_!”

The crying had also awakened Tinánia, and she had laid in her bedroll, stretching limbs which already seemed improved over the night before. When she heard Tathiel laugh, she smiled herself. Perhaps things were going to turn out well after all. Having also heard the comment about the bath, she rose, and offered her water skin to Tathiel.

“Use this, the water is not so cold,” she smiled at Tathiel.

“ _Mae govannen, ber min_ ,” Tathiel greeted her. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“I am nearly better,” Tinánia replied solemnly. “I have never taken such injury before. I thought I would be sore for days.”

“This is a gift of Ilúvatar to the first born,” Tathiel answered. “Our bodies heal quickly. I, too, feel much improved, although I am still sore.”

She gazed at Eärundra, who lay still next to her. “Eärundra will still be in much pain today,” she said sadly. “We will need to keep giving her the pain medication for many days, I think.”

Tinánia stroked her sister’s hair, watching as the small chest rose and fell with the slow breaths of one deep in sleep. “I will go for water. Perhaps I can find something to put it in that we might have enough to bathe her. She would not like to be so dirty.”

Tinánia rose, and walked from the dim light of the cave into the bright sun and crisp air of the morning. Frost decorated the landscape, the sun melting the cold into dewy droplets. She took a deep breath of the fresh air and looked about the area. The narrow path to the left led to the larger path and the spring. To the right there was a narrow canyon, and she could see bright light filtering through to shine on the west wall of the gorge. Her curiosity aroused as to what lay beyond, she decided to explore in that direction after caring for her own morning needs and obtaining water that the others might bathe.

She returned to the now familiar spring, and filled all the water skins. She had emptied what water they had into their cooking pots, and Tathiel had been bathing Legolas when she left. Tinánia had enjoyed watching him as the clean water ran over him and he laughed, kicked his feet and swung his little arms; and was glad he did not seem bothered by the bruises that covered his torso.

She explored the ravine around the spring, and was rewarded for her tenacity when she spied a chunk of wood hollowed in the shape of a bowl. The gnarled edges of the wood gave the appearance of handles. It was not terribly heavy, so she placed all the water skins in it and carried it back to the cave.

Legolas was propped in a near sitting position on blankets near the fire, and Tathiel was attempting to bathe herself around the splint on her lower right leg.

“Look, Tathiel,” Tinánia grinned. “I have found the perfect small bathtub.”

She set it down by Legolas. “See, I think he will fit right into it!”

Tathiel laughed too, and they filled the vessel and took the opportunity to undress Eärundra, bathe her and clean and re-bandage her wounds before the pain draught wore off. The bruises to her pelvis were fading some, but the wound from the breaking bone appeared angry and blood still seeped from it. Tathiel mixed a poultice of cleansing and healing herbs and applied that to the wound, then she and Tinánia wrapped and splinted the leg.

After helping Tathiel bathe and dress in cleaner clothing, Tinánia decided once again to explore the area that they would call home for the near future.

She headed first to the area where the rockslide had occurred, to see if in the dark she had missed any item that might be of value to them. She picked up a blanket that had been dropped, and then moved to the horse. She gazed on him sadly, mourning his fateful passing and the loss of an important asset to them. She removed the bridle and reigns, thinking they might be useful in the future. They had _lembas_ that would last them some time, if they were careful, but she wondered about horsemeat. Was it wrong to eat of one who had served them? She decided it was a moot point, as her small dagger was inadequate to cut the flesh. She wished for a way to properly take care of the creature’s remains, but found none. She continued past the body of the horse, deciding she would ask Tathiel for ideas. The thought did occur to her that wild animals might be attracted to the smell.

She walked a ways ahead, trying to note every detail of the trail. The path became rocky and treacherous, and she knew they would not have been able to continue this way even had the rockslide not come upon them. She turned and headed back the way she had come, this time continuing past their cave home and entering the small canyon. It curved to the left, and she followed it cautiously, finally coming out on the edge of a precipice. She felt her breath catch as she surveyed the view from this vantage point. There was a straight drop down from where she stood, and a clear view of the whole of the land. Many leagues to the south and west she could see with her keen elven sight the glistening waters of the River Carnen. The trees that bordered it were bright in their autumn glory, their leaves brilliant shades of red, gold, yellow and orange. The grass of the plains swayed in golden waves as far as the eye could see. Tinánia thought the land beautiful, and she gazed at it for some moments, drinking in the beauty.

Her gaze swept eastward and she saw spread far apart on the plains tiny figures of people and horses; perhaps caravans and groups of hunters heading east. Her heart welled with thankfulness that they were not part of any eastward caravan, and she looked then to the west. She could not see the borders of the Greenwood, but home lay there, and she saw the familiar beloved trees and lands in her mind’s eye.

Tinánia never looked behind her, where the cliff wall rose to rough and craggy stone formations and scattered scrub trees. She never saw the eyes that watched her; had indeed watched her every move since she had left the shelter early that morning. The trees did not whisper of danger to her, for this being had been with them so long that they accepted his presence amongst them. He watched her as she practiced shooting her arrows, and took note when she returned to the cave with a rabbit later that day. He noted the berries she collected from the bushes, and the roots and nuts she dug and gathered.

It was several days before Tinánia ventured back up the trail as far as the site of their accident. She had asked Tathiel about the horse and how they might dispose of it. They had not contrived any solution to the problem: they had not the strength to bury it nor the tools to utilize the horse for meat; they could not risk a pyre to burn the remains and in the end sadly left the animal to scavengers. Tinánia in her daily wandering and searching for food ventured upon the area, and it was several moments before she realized that the path had been mostly cleared of debris and the horse was gone.

A sudden chill came upon her, and her senses heightened in awareness. She focused on the trees, but their song had not changed. She scanned the cliff walls, and the ravine and neither saw or sensed anyone near. The birds yet chirped and called to each other, and she felt no danger. Confused, she wondered who had done this and when? She hurried back along the path and slipped inside the cave.

The watcher waited motionless until she had entered the cave, then silently abandoned his perch in the hills above and returned from whence he came.

*******

**Author’s note:**  
 _galu = blessing_  
nin tithen maethor = my little warrior  
Nín tithen caun = my little prince  
Mae govannen, ber min = Well met, brave one  
tithen min = little one  
tithen caun = little prince  



	14. The Watcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

“Tathiel!” Tinánia called softly as she entered the cave. “The horse is gone!”

Tathiel was sitting with Eärundra’s head in her lap, singing to her softly and helping support Legolas, who Eärundra was holding and petting. Legolas was reveling in the attention, playing as was his wont with Eärundra’s hair and cooing his own melody with Tathiel’s singing. They all looked up when Tinánia rushed in.

“What do you mean, Tinánia?” Tathiel questioned. “Did an animal drag it off or eat it?”

“No!” Tinánia was almost breathless. “I mean the horse is gone. The path is cleared of the rocks and the horse is just gone. There are no bones or anything!”

Tathiel felt her chest tighten with fear. “Did you see anyone?”

“No, and I listened to the trees. They did not tell me to beware and the birds yet sing,” Tinánia replied. “I looked all around, but I did not see anything. Although, I do not know very much about tracking. Perhaps I missed something. It has been several days since I have been up that way.”

Tathiel slid out from under Eärundra, laying the child’s head gently on a rolled blanket. She picked up Legolas, and walked to the cave entrance. She reached down, fingering the knife in her boot. It had been a week since the rock slide, and she had regained nearly full use of her arm and could walk unaided, although with a slight limp. She handed Legolas to Tinánia.

“I do not know that I know much about tracking, but I wish to go look just the same,” Tathiel replied. “I will be back in a short while.”

Tathiel slipped out into the sunlight, peering into the clefts of the hills that surrounded them. She saw nothing out of the ordinary, and like Tinánia heard no warnings in the whisperings of the trees and the sounds to which they had become accustomed in the hills were unchanged.

Walking did feel good, however, and she stretched her limbs and began the walk to the main path, turning and following it to the site of the rock slide. She had been trained some in tracking, all wood elves had such in their education, but she noted nothing to suggest that people had recently been that way. There was still a slight darkening of the ground where she has spilled the horse’s blood. She knelt examining the ground and noted that the ground had been swept clean, perhaps by a pine bough. The ground became more uneven and rocky the closer she got to the edge of the ravine, and in the gaps and uneven surfaces Tathiel noted tiny scraps of what appeared to be gristle and bits of flesh.

She surveyed the area again and found nothing out of the ordinary. The path was cleared, even though Tinánia had indicated that the way became impassable not far ahead. Perhaps there were inhabitants in these hills, she mused.

Tathiel walked back to the cave, her eyes watching the hills and wood about her, but she saw nothing. Unable to answer the riddle, she turned her mind again to the children. Eärundra’s injuries were healing, but as she expected the femur bone was slow to mend. A break to that part of the leg was a serious injury under the best of circumstances. Humans often never walked again and even an elf might suffer residual limitations because of it. She suspected that the child’s hips were also broken, and that meant that she had been unable to move since the injury. Tathiel had resigned herself that they may have to remain in their cave shelter for several weeks, and then hope to make it on foot to a friendly village where they might send word for help. She held out hope that King Thranduil’s warriors still searched for them.

***

The watcher was surprised by the one he now saw near the spring. He had thought the little one to be alone, as he had seen only her about for all the days he had been observing her. This one walked with a limp, yet he still noted a certain grace about her, much like that he had seen in the little one. He saw her scanning the hill, and knew she was looking for whoever had removed the horse. He blended into the shadows on his hill, and her eyes passed over him. Returning to his post, he settled in to resume watch over the cave.

***

The nights grew cooler and autumn finally passed into winter. Tinánia woke one morning and left the cave to retrieve water, as had become her morning routine. She stepped into the light, and was surprised by the glittering of snow clinging to the branches of trees, weighting down the pines and softly covering the ground. She pushed her hand into the snow, and smiled when the depth was midway up her forearm. She picked up a handful of the heavy wet snow and carried it back inside.

“It snowed! You did smell snow in the air last night, Tathiel!” Tinánia grinned as she re-entered the cave.

Eärundra was sitting up, propped against blankets to provide the most comfortable angle for her hips and leg. She laughed aloud as her sister placed the snowball in her hand, and then squeezed it.

“This is good snowball snow!” Eärundra cried. “We need to have a snowball fight, Tinánia! Oh, please, Tathiel, can you move me outside, just for a little while?”

Tathiel laughed. A good snowball fight might just do them all some good. “Yes, for a little while, but then you must take the pain medicine without argument when we come back in.”

Tathiel carefully picked Eärundra up, and carried her out of the cave. Tinánia place a blanket on the ground next to a rock of just the right height for Eärundra to hide behind. Tathiel lowered Eärundra to the blanket, and pushed a heap of snow to her. The snowballs flew almost immediately, Tinánia darting from rock to rock, throwing snowballs at her sister and Eärundra aiming and returning fire against the moving target that was her sister, then ducking her head to avoid the incoming globs.

Tathiel watched from near the cave entrance, the laughter and smiles on the faces of the youngsters bringing joy to her heart. She sat down on the snow, placing Legolas before her and freeing his arms so he could touch the white fluff around him. One little hand plunged into the cold, followed quickly by the other, and his little face changed from wonder to joy as he batted the snow back and forth.

“He’s giggling!” Tinánia exclaimed, stopping her assault on her sister.

Eärundra took full advantage of Tinánia’s distraction to pelt her with another snowball, this one covering her hair in white, and then quickly dripping down her back and face. Eärundra squealed with delight, for it was the best hit she had scored.

Tathiel picked Legolas up, and he squealed in frustration. He wanted to play! She moved him over to where Eärundra sat, and they all sat down and watched as Legolas plunged both hands back into the snow. His face lit up immediately at the cold on his hands, and he resumed swatting the snow with delightful abandon.

“It was definitely giggling,” Eärundra giggled. “I guess he likes the snow.”

***

Near the peak of the hill above them, the watcher sat. He was amused by the scene before him, as well as surprised. The infant had been brought out on several occasions in the month he had been watching, but this was the first time he had seen the small girl-child. She appeared to have been badly injured at some point. Even as he watched, the adult handed the infant to the little archer, and picked up the crippled one and returned her to the warmth of their shelter. The child still smiled, but her face had become pale and she appeared fatigued. Not long after, the little archer resumed her task of fetching water, although on this day he noted the adult scooped up snow and brought it inside as well. Her tasks done, he saw the little archer shoulder her bow and quiver and resume her hunt.

She had become quite good, and most days had managed to bring home at least a rabbit. He now wondered what they would do as the winter progressed and meat was less plentiful. He had not realized how many this little one was feeding.

***

Winter did progress, and the Iron Hills experienced one of the worst winters seen in recent years. Several severe snowstorms battered the hills, blocking the narrower paths and making navigation difficult. Tinánia several mornings found the entrance to the cave blocked by snow, and she and Tathiel had to dig a tunnel out and upwards until they broke free on top of the drift. The ability of the elves to walk atop the drifts was beneficial in that they could move about; yet made little improvement in their lot as the small animals that Tinánia had been faithfully catching could not. The spring stayed open all winter, but on most days they simply scooped snow and brought it inside.

By midwinter the lack of meat and inability to gather firewood had severely drained their resources. Their wood had dwindled to enough to last for only a few days, and they had eaten waybread solely for over a month. Tathiel estimated the waybread would last another month if it were all they ate, but the firewood was fast becoming an immediate problem.

Tinánia had taken to breaking the dead branches off of the surrounding trees after the first large storm had covered the ground in several feet of snow, but even this resource was now depleted. They had not an axe or other suitable tool for felling wood.

Tathiel left the cave and walked lightly upon the snow to the south, through the narrow canyon. The drifts were tall and deep, and it was difficult to see the edge of the cliff. She gazed out over the snow covered hills and valley. She could see the trees that bordered the river, but even the river appeared frozen and snow covered. The view, while beautiful, confirmed in her mind that they would not be able to leave any time soon. Eärundra was walking again, but she would never make a journey of this difficulty. While not terribly susceptible to the cold, none of them had clothes for a winter journey either.

A low, mournful howl broke the silence and echoed around her. She turned quickly, scanning the cliffs above her. A lone wolf stood on a wind-swept ridge, his neck arched and his muzzle extended as he sounded his call. The wolf was close enough to her that she could see his eyes, and they were hungry. She slipped back into the canyon and returned to the cave, a lingering fear heavy on her heart.

***  
  
The watcher heard the call of the wolf, and watched as the adult turned to seek its source. He followed her gaze, and saw the male wolf standing tall on the rock. He sensed the hunger of the wolf, just as he sensed the fear of the adult. To the wolf she would become prey.

He knew that the adult and three little ones had not had fresh meat for nearly a month. He knew there were no longer any dead limbs within reach for the little archer to break from the trees. He knew that the wolf had a pack, and that pack would be seeking food. He also knew about the low-tunneled entrance at the back of the cave for he knew all the nooks and crannies of these hills. He knew that choices would need to be made.

***

Tathiel sat on the cave floor, rabbit skins spread around her, as she used needle and thread to sew the soft skins into a tunic. Small pieces had already been fashioned into tiny booties, and were currently being tugged off small feet by tiny yet determined hands.

“Hold him up for me again,” Tathiel instructed Eärundra.

Eärundra stood Legolas on his feet and held him up by hands. He immediately tried to bend down and grab at the booties on his feet, and became impatient with the hands holding him still, a small squeal accompanying his frustration.

Tathiel slipped the rabbit-skin tunic over his head and pulled it to his feet. Legolas’ frustration at his inability to reach his feet was immediately forgotten as he felt the same tantalizing softness encompass all of him. He patted and stroked at the material, and when Eärundra sat him back down he squealed in delight as he could again reach his feet. He rolled over on to his back, one furry foot already to his mouth and he grinned at his audience.

“I would say he likes his new clothes,” Tinánia laughed. “He is the silliest elfling I have ever seen. Look at him suck on his feet! One would think that he liked the taste of rabbit fur!”

Legolas merely giggled and kicked said feet in the air. He was the center of attention, and his infant mind enjoyed having three ellyth to hold, tickle, talk and play with him.

Tathiel smiled as she watched them play with Legolas. She fashioned additional pelts into hoods for Tinánia and Eärundra, and then set aside the remainder of the fur. At the rate Legolas was growing he would need another tunic before they left these hills.

“Do you know what today is?” she asked.

Eärundra looked expectantly at her sister, who thought for a moment before answering. A slow smile graced her face, and she said brightly, “It is the winter solstice!”

Tathiel laughed. “It is the eve of the winter solstice. Tonight in the Woodland Realm there will be a feast with dancing and games. The Great Hall will be decorated with sprigs of holly and pine boughs, and candles will light the tables.

“The trees outside the Great Hall will be glowing with candles, and tiny packets of sweets will hang from the lower branches,” Tinánia continued, her eyes closed as she imagined herself home.

“Nana will sing and Ada will play his harp,” Eärundra remembered. “They will drink of the finest of the King’s wine, and toast the year and praise Ilúvatar that shadow holds no sway over the Greenwood.”

“We should do something for Legolas’ first festival,” Tinánia jumped to her feet, excited. “He can have some crumbs of the lembas; since he doesn’t have to eat them all the time it will be a treat for him!”

“We can sing the songs they will sing tonight, and next year when he is home perhaps he will remember them!” Eärundra added. “And he already has new clothes, so that is special too!”

“I have one small candle left in my pack,” Tathiel offered. “We can burn it tonight.”

A moment of sadness seemed to descent upon them all, and Tinánia finally said, “We will burn it in memory of those who have gone to the Halls of Mandos, for Alagos and Queen Narawen and Elryndel.”

Tathiel gathered all three of the elflings in her arms, “They burn candles tonight, too, that flame bright with the hope to see us home.”

A soft birdcall disturbed their moment of quiet, and Tathiel jumped to her feet. It had been long since they had heard the voice of the birds, and it was late in the day for any to be about. She motioned the elflings to a protected corner of the cave and unsheathed her dagger. She moved to the entrance of the cave, sliding slowly along the wall to the opening. A bundle lay in the snow tunnel. She reached for it cautiously, and then picked up and quickly withdrew into the cave. She opened the bundle, and stared at the contents.

Dried strips of meat and berries, and various nuts, enough to feed them for several days, lay in the wrapping. A small, well worn but sharp axe, and a good sized knife, much larger than their small daggers, were wrapped in oilskin. Leather thongs and a large tanned hide completed the package.

Tathiel turned back to the entrance and crept slowly up the tunnel into the fading afternoon sun. Against the cave wall sat a large pile of firewood. She stepped onto the snow, and looked around. She could see no one. She looked for tracks around the woodpile, but found nothing deeper than the light prints they left behind. She stared into the hills for a few moments, but she felt no fear. Someone knew they were here, and this someone appeared to be a friend.

“ _Mae govannen, elvellon_ ,” she called softly to the hills. “ _Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo_.”

The watcher sat hidden in his perch, watching the adult gather an armload of wood and return to the cave. Her greeting warmed his heart, and he was glad she was unafraid. Settling himself more comfortably to watch over the shelter, he found joy in the songs heard faintly coming from within and he smiled when he heard the exclamations of the little ones inside.

In the distance the call of the wolf was heard, answered first by one, then another.

***

The Great Hall was lit with lanterns and candles, the trees sparkled with light and tiny packets of sweets were hung on the lower limbs of the trees. Warmly dressed elves were arriving for the great feast that was to be held while others played instruments and sang songs in greeting.

In the family quarters of the King the mood was subdued. Thranduil sat alone in his chamber, his head bowed, waiting for his children to finish preparations and join him. He wished they could forego this celebration, wished only to drink of his wine and lay himself in his bed and sleep this evening. Narawen loved the festivals and feasts, and he felt her absence on this night, felt his grief again overwhelm and consume him.

“ _Adar_?” a voice spoke from the doorway.

Thranduil lifted his head and motioned Bregolas into the room. It was amazing how much Bregolas resembled him, he thought. Of the same height, with the same broad-shouldered build, and perhaps, unfortunately, the same personality. That thought made him smile, and Bregolas returned the grin.

“You would prefer the solitude of this room this eve?” Bregolas asked as he pulled up a chair and sat next to his father.

“My preferences are surpassed by my duty,” Thranduil replied softly, the slightest of sighs audible.

“The others are waiting outside,” Bregolas said. “I have come alone to make a request on behalf of Elenath.”

Thranduil grimaced, “Have I been so ill tempered that my own child dares not ask something of me herself?”

“No, _Ada_ ,” Bregolas laughed, easing the tension in Thranduil’s face. “But she knows not how to ask this. Thusly she has asked her much wiser and honey-tongued brother to speak on her behalf.”

This remark did cause the corners of Thranduil’s mouth to crinkle in a slight smile. “Still arrogant and over-confident, I see.”

“Yes, well _Naneth_ always said I was your son,” Bregolas laughed, but he chose his words carefully.

Thranduil stiffened at the mention of his wife, and again bowed his head.

“ _Ada_ ,”, I do not wish to cause you pain,” Bregolas said cautiously. “We miss our _Nana_ ,” dreadfully, but we must speak of her. Elumeril needs to speak of her and of Alagos. We need to speak of Legolas. We speak of them amongst ourselves, but never in front of you. You comfort us in our grief, but you do not use their names.”

“Bregolas, must we …..have this discussion now?” Thranduil asked, his face pained.

“Elenath wishes to give the blessing this evening,” Bregolas hurried on to his point, “the blessing that _Nana_ ,” usually gives before the feast. She has worked on it for several days. She wants to remember those who have fallen this last year, those who are missing and those who are searching for them.”

Thranduil sat silent for several moments, his eyes closed and his head bowed. He finally drew a deep breath, and stood, facing his son.

“Call in your brothers and sisters.”

Bregolas did as he was bidden, wondering what his father had just decided in his mind. Lathron, Celebrinduil, Elenath and Elumeril entered the room. All were dressed for the banquet in rich robes befitting their position as children of the king. Thranduil stood facing them, his hands clasped behind his back, his face pensive as if he contemplated matters of great importance. Elumeril fidgeted in place, her hand twisting in her gown as she longed to race to her Ada and throw herself in his arms. She stared at her father, willing him to look at her, and finally he did. Her face lit up, and a small smile appeared on her lips. She let go of her dress, and rocked on the balls of her feet, waiting, wishing…..

Thranduil watched her for a moment, and then beckoned her with one finger to come to him. She was across the room in a flash, and he was hit by a flying bundle of elfling about his midriff. He scooped her up and hugged her close, and then settling her on his hip turned to face the others.

Smile now appeared on the faces of Bregolas, Lathron and Celebrinduil. Elenath still faltered, hesitant, wondering if her father would allow her to give the festival blessing. Thranduil set Elumeril down, and taking her by the hand walked to stand in front of Elenath. He reached for her hand, and raising it to his lips kissed it gently.

“My Lady, I would be honored if you would sit next to me as hostess this eve, and give the blessing upon our people,” he said formally. “I understand you have prepared words. Is there anything we can do to assist you?”

Elenath beamed. “Oh, thank you _Ada_!” she flung her arms about his neck and he hugged her close, tears brimming in his eyes.

“There is one thing I would like to do, _Ada_ ,”. I would like Urithral sit at the family table with us, and I would like another special table for the families of Elryndel and all the families of the warriors who have gone to the East.”

Thranduil glanced at Bregolas, who nodded that it would be done.

“And _Ada_ ,” Elenath added, “Elumeril would like to sit next to Urithral.”

Thranduil glanced down at the elleth still holding tight to his hand.

“Yes, _Ada_ , I would like that. He doesn’t have Ethiwen or Tinánia or Eärundra this holiday,” Elumeril explained.

Thranduil felt his heart well, and his eyes tear, at the compassion of his little ones. He had thought of Urithral, of course. Looking at his daughters at that moment he saw Narawen, for he knew it was from she that they had inherited their tender hearts.

“Then it will be so,” he replied. “You may go to the Great Hall and see to the seating arrangements”

His daughters hugged him and dashed from the room. His three sons stood before him still, Bregolas grinning, Celebrinduil proud, and Lathron….the best descriptor of Lathron would be paternal.

Lathron loved all his siblings dearly, and especially had seen to the well being of his sisters these last months. He was glad to see them working through their grief and turning their energies to the concerns of others. It was what his Naneth would have wanted, and Lathron was glad to see to this part of their education.

“My sons, have you aught to ask of your ill-tempered father this evening?” Thranduil asked, facing the three of them.

“No _Adar_. I ask to be excused, that I might see to Elenath’s plans,” Bregolas laughed.

“Nor I, _Ada_ ,” Celebrinduil replied. “ _I_ do not believe you to be ill-tempered, not matter what Bregolas says.”

Bregolas elbowed him in the stomach, and the two left pummeling each other as Thranduil held open the door for them.

Thranduil returned to his chair, and motioned Lathron to sit beside him.

“What of you, _nín ion_? Thranduil turned his attention to the son he related to the least, and the one he felt he had failed the most these last months.

Lathron was silent, as he had been for these long days and weeks. He often knew not what to say to his father, and limited his words to those involving affairs of the realm in which he advised. He remained haunted by the dreams of his Naneth, and now of his infant brother.

Thranduil felt his heart soften to this son as they sat in silence. He reached out and took Lathron’s hand, squeezing it gently when he felt Lathron might pull away. Lathron relaxed slightly when Thranduil did not let go, and instead savored this moment of intimacy with the father he dearly loved.

“I am sorry, Lathron.” Thranduil finally said. “You are tenderhearted as was your mother, and I have always been at a loss to know how to comfort you. _Diheno nin_ , for when you needed me I was not there. Yet you have never failed to be there for your brothers and sisters, and I appreciate that.”

Lathron lifted his hand with his father’s to his cheek, and leaned against it. He slid from the chair, and kneeling in front of his father laid his head in father’s lap. Thranduil wrapped his arms around this child, stroking his hair, thankful for this reconciliation.

“I am sorry, _Ada_. I miss them so much it hurts.”

Thranduil hesitated a moment, then asked, “Do you still blame yourself?”

“I do not know, _Ada_. I do not understand these dreams that I have, and I miss mother all the more because she did. I know it was not any fault of mine that this happened, and I do not believe I could have prevented it.”

“Do you blame me?” Thranduil asked softly.

Lathron’s head came up in surprise, a look of disbelief on his face, “No _Ada_. I have never blamed you.”

“I blame me,” Thranduil admitted. “I blame myself for going on the trip; I blame myself for not taking more guards, I blame myself for allowing them to go to the Iron Hills.”

“ _Ada_ , how could you have known this would happen?”

“I could not,” he sighed. “Yet, I wish to blame myself, for I wish to be angry at someone. The men who killed your mother and Alagos are dead, so I cannot even be angry at them anymore.”

Lathron was quiet again for a moment, and then looking his father in the eye he said, “I had another dream last night.”

Thranduil closed his eyes, wondering if he dared ask, yet he really wished to know.

“About Legolas?”

Lathron was surprised. He had not told his father about the dreams he had of his infant brother, and Bregolas had not asked his leave to discuss the matter. Thranduil sensed his unspoken question.

“I was in the garden one night when you and Bregolas spoke on your balcony. I was glad to see you speaking with your brother, glad you could grieve with him. I heard what you told him about Legolas, about his resemblance to his mother. I wished to speak with you about this, but I could not. I barely harbored hope that he lived, and it was only when the message from Rawien reached us that I truly began to believe our little greenleaf might survive.”

“He survives _Ada_. I am sure of it,” Lathron said. “He grows big and strong, and on this night he was dressed in rabbit skins, of all things, _Ada_. His hair is golden and his eyes the brightest blue. He laughs and smiles much, and he is loved.”

“You can know all of this from your dreams, your visions?” Thranduil questioned. He had never asked about his son’s dreams, never wondered about their meaning.

“I do, _Adar_. The message from Rawien confirmed things I have seen. The message stated that Tathiel nurses him, and spoke of his looks as I have described. The daughters of Urithral dote on him, and Tathiel loves him as she would a child of her own flesh. These things the chief of the village told Rawien. They are the same things I have seen.”

“What else did you see in your dream last night?”

“I do not know how to interpret it all, _Ada_. I wish I did. They are caught in a bad storm, and someone has aided them. I do not know who or why; but they were celebrating the solstice as we are, and Legolas was very merry in the attention of the others.”

“Could you see any of the ones that hold them captive?”

“No _Ada_. I have never seen that.”

Thranduil was quiet, then he turned to Lathron, who still knelt before him.

“I love you, Lathron,” he cupped his son’s face in both hands, and leaning down kissed him on the forehead. “Please remember it always, for I neglect too often to tell you. I would like it if you would tell me more of your dreams sometime. I cannot promise to understand, but I do wish to know more of this little golden haired child and I wish to know you better too.”

Thranduil stood, and raised Lathron with him. “Come, we have a feast to attend.”

***

The Great Hall was filled with elves and buzzing with activity when Thranduil and Lathron entered. Many elves were seated and more were seeking their tables, while the minstrels and musicians practiced in a corner. The hall was brightly lit, and gaily decorated with ribbons, holy and boughs of fragrant pine. The family table sat upon a low dais, and immediately in front of it a longer table had been set. Already it was nearly full, and the elves there were sad yet honored by their places.

Elumeril was seated next to Urithral, and she held his hand in hers, her small body resting against his chest as they watched the activity. Lathron joined Bregolas and Celebrinduil at the table, and they stood behind their chairs. Elenath stood behind her Naneth’s chair. Thranduil stood in the entrance, and waited until his herald announced his presence. All of the elves quieted, and stood with heads bowed as their King walked to his chair on the dais. He stopped in front of his daughter, and bowing, kissed her hand. He turned and faced the many faces that now turned his way.

“I am pleased to see all of you here this evening. We celebrate this winter solstice with feasting and song and dance, and thank the Valar for their provision and watch care over us.”

Thranduil seated himself in his chair, and turned expectant eyes to Elenath. She trembled, and he reached out and squeezed her hand; Bregolas did the same on her other side.

“My father has granted me permission to speak the blessing over this feast and festival,” she began in a clear voice. “I wish to begin with a remembrance of those who have gone to the Halls of Mandos for they were much loved and shall be greatly missed.” She turned to her father, and he rose and lit the candle in the middle of the family table, “In memory of Queen Narawen, for she was love and light to us all.”

A hushed silence was upon the Hall, and many eyes sparkled as the bright lights reflected off their tears. Elenath motioned next to Bregolas, who lit the candle in front of the chair that was Alagos’, “In memory of Alagos, who lived life with the vigor of his name, a fierce storm that battled any foe and laughed with the same intensity.”

She motioned next to the table in front of her, and a stately she-elf rose, with several of her own grown children, lighting the candle that sat amidst their plates. “In memory of Elryndel, who served this realm and his king for nearly three millennia, and whose greatest joy lay in coming home always to the family he loved.”

‘To those who are missing,” Elenath continued, and Urithral stood with Elumeril and together they lit two of the three candles placed in front of Urithral, and the single candle near Elumeril and to the right of the king. “Dearly beloved children of Urithral and Ethiwen, Tinánia and Eärundra, who we know are being brave and courageous as any _tithen ellyth_ could be; and Legolas,” Elenath’s own voice caught and she struggled for a moment to gain control of her emotion, “our little brother who we wish to meet soon,”

Lathron rose, and lit the candle in front of him, “In honor of Tathiel, who has loved and served this family for longer than I can remember. She is nana to them all right now.”

Elenath motioned for all the elves who sat at the table in front of her to stand, and said, “In honor of those who search, who are facing cold and danger and hardship to return our missing to us,” she said, and the family of each warrior lit the candle in front of them as she spoke their name, “Galithon….. Bellion…… Meren…… Elunell…… Sadron…… Laerion….. Varandil….. Lachthoniel…… Rawien……. Ethiwen,” she finished, and Urithral lit the final candle before him when his wife’s name was spoken.

“We have much to be thankful for this year, and I thank the Valar and Ilúvatar for their provision and watch care over us all. I ask Námo to comfort and heal my mother, Alagos and Elryndel in the Halls of Mandos. I beseech the Valar to protect Tathiel, Tinánia, Eärundra and Legolas, and to guide and protect all of the warriors who seek them. I ask for the blessings of the Valar for us all in the Woodland Realm. Please eat, drink and be merry this eve, and leave a candle lit this night in your home for the memory and hope of those we honor this evening.”

Elenath sat; trembling, and Thranduil motioned for the feast to be served. He waited until the voices and sounds of the elves filled the Great Hall, for that is how long it took him to gain control himself, and then he turned to Elenath and pulled her into his arms.

“ _Elenath sila am le, nin sell_ ,” he whispered in her ear. “Thank you.”

*******

**Author’s note:**   
_Mae govannen, elvellon = Well met, elf-friend_  
Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo = A star shines on the hour of our meeting  
nín ion = my son  
Diheno nin = forgive me  
Elenath sila am le, nin sell = A star shines upon thee, my daughter   



	15. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

“Meren, two, to the east!” Galithon called

Meren turned deftly and fired two arrows in swift succession, felling the fleeing Orcs. She quickly scanned the hillside, but saw no others. She was joined by Bellion, his quiver empty and a wound on his upper arm and torn tunic evidence of the intensity of the battle they had fought.

“You are injured,” she said as she strapped her bow across her back. “Arrow or knife?”

“Arrow,” Bellion grimaced slightly as she poked at the wound. “Judging by the burning when it struck, I would say poisoned as well.”

Varandil was uninjured, and already setting up supplies and tending the wounded. Meren led Bellion to the small triage area, and deftly tended his wound, cleansing and applying an herbal poultice to lessen the effects of the Orc poison and prevent its spread through the bloodstream.

“Stay put,” she commanded. “That will heal better if you keep still.”

Bellion smiled at her, but did as directed. He had helped teach Meren the bow, and he was well pleased with her this trip. Her accuracy and lightning fast strikes had saved the company on more than one occasion. The student was quickly becoming the equal of the teacher.

Varandil tended Elunell, who suffered the gravest of the injuries that night. A sword to the chest and abdomen had laid open a long gash from her right shoulder to her left hipbone. Ethiwen sat at her head, cradling Elunell’s head in her lap, one hand across Elunell’s forehead and the other on her uninjured shoulder. Ethiwen’s eyes were closed, and she sang softly. Elunell relaxed some under the calming influence, but her eyes revealed the pain she was in and her skin was pale and cool.

“Have her drink this,” Varandil softly nudged Ethiwen, handing her a small vial.

Ethiwen raised Elunell’s head slightly and held the vial to her lips until she had swallowed all of its contents. She then resumed her song, stroking Elunell’s hair and imparting light and healing to her. Within minutes Elunell’s eyes were closed, and her body fully relaxed.

Varandil had been staunching the flow of blood while he waited for the medication to take effect. Now he cut open her over tunic and underclothing, exposing the wound from end to end. The wound was deepest over the soft flesh of the abdomen, and it was there that he began his work, cleaning and stitching the muscle first, and then the skin over it.

Galithon tended the rest. Sadron had taken a blow from the hilt of a sword to his own sword arm, and the bone was bruised but Galithon detected no break. He splinted it just the same, but knew Sadron would have full use within a day or two. Laerion had only scratches. Lachthoniel had a deep gash to his thigh, which Galithon stitched.

Rawien sat a little apart from the group, leaning against the base of a lone tree and watching as dawn broke and the sun began its slow ascent across the sky.

“Are you injured?” Galithon inquired.

Rawien had his left arm cradled against his chest, a crimson stain on his tunic and his right arm holding a bandage in place. He did not immediately answer, but did remove his right hand that Galithon might see the injury.

Galithon knelt beside him and carefully examined the arm. He cut the sleeve of the tunic up the seam, and exposed the wound to the wrist. The wound was deep and the bone of the lower arm clearly broken. Galithon set back on his heels, and eyed his friend.

“The bone needs to be set and the wound cleaned and stitched. You are fortunate that it is not your sword arm, or you would find yourself hard pressed to handle one for the next week,” he said gravely. “I prefer Varandil to do this. Staunch the wound again, while I see if he is done tending Elunell.”

Rawien nodded, and resumed his study of the rising sun. Galithon returned a few moments later, and helped him to his feet. They joined Varandil, and noted Elunell deeply asleep now, covered with blankets with Ethiwen still at her side.

“How fares Elunell?” Rawien asked as he seated himself on the ground by Varandil.

“The wound was deep, and the abdomen penetrated,” Varandil gently pushed Rawien into a prone position and propped the injured arm on rolled blankets. “She will recover, but we cannot move her for at least a day, possibly several days.”

Varandil handed Rawien a small vial of pain killer, and noted his captain’s hesitation.

“It is mild, Rawien. It will only dull the pain, not remove it. Your mind will not become confused,” he encouraged him.

Rawien sighed and drank it, as indicated. He knew the body healed better when not stressed by pain, but he held greater concerns about another attack and his ability to participate in their defense.

Galithon sat next to Rawien, handing splinting materials and bandages to Varandil as needed. “This level of Orc activity is not expected.”

“You have noticed too, that the caravans are not plagued by these attacks?” Rawien hissed slightly as Varandil set his wrist.

“I had noticed,” Galithon responded dryly. “If the caravans are aware of our presence they do not show it. Which leads to the next question: are the Orcs working directly with the Easterlings or do the Orcs have instructions to leave them alone?”  
“If they were working together I think we would notice more guards and patrols about their camps at night as well during their travels. They are confident, traveling with no flank guard, no patrol riding up and down the line, and minimal rear guard.”

“I did not know there were this many Orcs this far east,” Varandil added, now stitching the jagged wound.

“On the few previous journey’s our warriors have taken to this area they have not reported such Orc activity,” Galithon replied.

“Shadow has returned to the Greenwood,” Rawien mused. “Perhaps shadow has come from the east.”

Varandil and Galithon both fell silent. If this were indeed true, they could expect the minions of shadow to haunt their steps all along the way.

Varandil applied a healing ointment to the wound, and finished splinting and bandaging the break. “Three days with the splint, Captain,” he said as he rose to join the others.

“Thanks Varandil,” Rawien acknowledged the information, but his thoughts were already turned to their more pressing problem.

Galithon sensed this, and spoke, “We will need to stay here this day and night. It is a defendable position, should another band of Orcs discover us here. I am fairly confident none escaped us of this last party, so we will hope word has not spread.”

“This is the largest of the caravans, and I have again seen nothing to indicate Tathiel or the children are part of it,” Rawien moved on to their mission. “We have followed all three of the caravans, and not had a glimpse of them. I cannot think they would keep them inside a wagon and never allow them out, not when they seem to have no indication we are following them.”

“Perhaps it is time we employed a more direct approach,” Galithon offered.

Rawien raised an eyebrow at this statement. “What do you suggest?”

“There is a man who rides at the head of the caravan, and he appears to dictate the movement and timing of the party. I suggest we have a conversation with him.”

“It may have to be a persuasive conversation,” Rawien added.

“May it be so, if needed,” Galithon was pragmatic. “It is nearly spring, and we are hundreds of leagues from home. We have tracked, watched, and even explored their camps and seen nothing. I think it is time for answers.”

“You would need to do this thing. I will not be fit for several days, and they would be far ahead of us by then.”  
“I will take Lachthoniel to aid me, and Bellion to guard,” Galithon replied.

Rawien looked at Elunell lying a few feet away. Ethiwen still sat at her side, and he knew she listened as they planned their strategy.

“It must wait,” Rawien said at last, and he noted that Ethiwen tensed. “With three gone, Elunell injured, and I not at full strength, the camp would be hard pressed to defend against an attack such as we had this past night.”

“Then we wait,” Galithon agreed. “Rest my friend; I will see to the watches.”

Galithon joined the others, and Rawien did rest, his eyes open but expressionless as he slipped into elven sleep.

Ethiwen sat with her knees drawn to her chest, and her arms clasped about them. It was nearly spring, and they were far to the south and east. For months they had followed the caravans, and thus far had not seen any evidence of the missing elves….her children…..in any of them. They had crept into the camps at night, in the stealthy manner that only an elf can, undetected, and searched the grounds, the tents, and the wagons. They did not speak the language of the Easterlings, and what little of the common tongue was spoken was not of captives or slaves.

Ethiwen had begun to suspect, as had others in the group, that Tathiel, Tinánia, Eärundra, and Legolas were not part of any of the caravans. Either they had been sold as slaves before the caravans left, or perhaps – and this was a new thought - they had not been taken captive by the Easterlings at all.

In her mother’s heart she felt yet the bond of her children, and she knew they lived. She sensed them less strongly than she had early in the journey, and had at first wondered if it was the passage of time that had weakened the bond. She had spoken of this to Galithon, for he had children and had oft been apart from them. He had told her his children were much older during those times than her little ones were now; the bond he felt to them remained strong but was different perhaps than a mother’s bond to a young child she yet nurtured.

The words held no comfort, and as time passed she began to wonder if it was instead distance that bothered her. If the children were not part of the eastward caravans, if they were instead in a tribal village in the Iron Hills…….

Ethiwen rose and moved closer to where Rawien sat. He was sleeping, or seemed to be, but had noted her presence and when she did not speak he started to sit up.

“Do not rise,” she stopped him. “Varandil wishes you to rest and keep the arm elevated yet this night. Forgive my disturbing your rest.”

“Forgiven,” Rawien smiled. He waited, and when she did not speak again, said, “You are concerned with the plans we have made.”

“I agree that we cannot move until Elunell has recovered,” Ethiwen said, a slight hesitancy to her voice, “and that we can take no action that will divide our forces until all the injured can again fight. I do begin to think that Tathiel and the children are not part of any of these caravans.”

Rawien was silent for a moment.

“All indications were that they were taken when the man Balak’s camp was attacked,” he answered. “Balak meant to sell them as slaves to the Easterlings. We know the Easterlings killed Balak and his men, and that no sign of Tathiel or children was found in the camp.  
We were no more than a week behind them, and we did not see or hear any evidence that they were sold or bartered to any along the way.”

He paused again. “The trails were heavily used. Perhaps we missed a sign, a division or splitting. We had tokens to follow up until we reached the camp. Either they were no longer able to leave tokens…..”

“………or they left no tokens because they did not wish to be followed,” Ethiwen finished for him.

“Because they escaped,” Rawien said flatly. He thought for a moment, “One horse went east.”

“Many prints led south, and one to the east, and one to the west,” Ethiwen remembered the words as well. “If they went one direction, who went the other?”

“That I do not know,” Rawien admitted. “Tathiel would know not to head west, as that is the direction they would be expected to take. She would have gone east. I do not know what the westward tracks mean. She may have led a false trail, but it would be a dangerous thing to return and pass through the camp.”

“Unless the men were incapacitated,” Ethiwen breathed. “They were killed in their bedrolls.”

“Tathiel could not have killed them,” Rawien knew this to be true.

“No, she could not,” Ethiwen laughed softly. “But she would know of other ways to incapacitate them. Or perhaps the men incapacitated themselves with drink.”

Rawien leaned his head back, staring at the stars. His hope was stirred, and yet guilt was already growing in his mind that he had failed them yet again. They were more than a half-year now on a trail that was cold from the day they discovered it. He closed his eyes, willing away the despair wrought by that thought.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and opened his eyes. Ethiwen had moved nearer to him, and she gazed down at him now. He looked into her eyes, and he saw no blame.

“Do not say it. Do not even think it,” she kissed him on the forehead. She rose and returned to Elunell’s side, and checked to see that she was still in deep sleep. Then, more at peace than she had felt for many days, she laid down herself and drifted into sleep.

***

“What did he leave this time?” Tathiel asked, seeing the bundle that Tinánia carried into the cave with her.

Tinánia moved closer to the fire, and sitting, opened the bundle in front of her. Strips of dried meat, and a good supply of dried berries and nuts were enclosed, but also a large side of fresh meat.

“Tis deer meat,” Tathiel said, sitting down next to her.

“He spares us so much. Do you suppose he has enough for himself? I wonder if he has a family?” Tinánia wondered aloud.

For days they had speculated on who their benefactor might be. Never had he shown himself, and in truth they only guessed ‘him’ to be a ‘he’. He made no sound, and left no discernable trail; so they guessed he was not a man. A dwarf could never have made it through such deep snow. The snowdrifts were taller than Tathiel, and a dwarf much shorter than she.

“An elf,” Tinánia said.

“If he were an elf, why would he hide himself?” Tathiel gave the counter-argument.

“Because he is a dark elf, a Moriquendi, and he does not wish to be known,” Eärundra joined them. She had heard all the arguments and counter-arguments before and could easily debate any of the positions now.

Tathiel and Tinánia both laughed.

“If Legolas joins this conversation, we will know that we have debated this issue beyond reason,” Tathiel said, shaking her head.

“Nanananananan,” came the reply from the bed, followed by an ongoing, “aiiiiiiiiiii.”

“I think that means someone wants to get up,” Tathiel smiled.

“Actually, I think that was the argument for why the elf remains hidden,” Tinánia giggled.

Tathiel picked Legolas up from his nest in the bedrolls, blankets and pine boughs. He smiled and grabbed for her tunic with one hand, and managed a handful of hair with the other.

“Ai! Just a moment, my impatient one,” she freed her hair and held him away from her. “You need to be cleaned and changed first; then I will feed you.”

Legolas grinned and laughed, and resumed his call, “nananannananannanan!”

“What do you supposed he is saying?” Eärundra asked.

“I think it means feed me or I will pull out all your hair,” Tinánia snickered, gaining laughs all around her.

The elfling did seem to have an enormous fascination with hair. He always nursed with one hand twined in Tathiel’s hair, and became quite disgruntled if he could not have it. She had on one occasion pulled her hair back out of his reach, and been treated to Legolas’ first temper tantrum. He refused to nurse and instead fussed incessantly until she gave in. Nonetheless, all three of them had started braiding their hair and tying it away from their faces at all other times.

Tathiel cleaned him and changed his diapers, then dressed him in his rabbit fur tunic. She managed to get the fur booties onto his feet, knowing full well one of them would put them back on him at least a half dozen times over the course of the day. Legolas clapped his hands and laughed and entertained them all, but at every opportunity grabbed for her tunic and hair.

“Yes, now little one, you may eat,” Tathiel opened her tunic. “No biting!”

Tinánia and Eärundra fell over with laughter at that comment. Legolas now had two small bottom teeth, and enjoyed using them on anything he could get his mouth upon. Both had had their fingers nipped, and they could only imagine that Tathiel’s discomfort was far worse.

“He is teething,” Tathiel had defended him the first time he nipped Tinánia’s finger. He had bitten her on the breast only a day later, and Tathiel had scowled at Tinánia when the youngster reminded her, “But he is just teething.”

Legolas quieted and nursed without biting, his fingers twined in Tathiel’s hair. Tinánia served each of them of the dried meat and berries, and set the raw meat aside in some snow. Snow they had plenty of. It seemed to fall almost daily, and the drifts had become so deep that they could no longer pass through the small gorge to the south and stand upon the cliff.

Without the aid of their benefactor, Tathiel doubted they would have survived the winter. He kept them well supplied with firewood and food, mostly dried meat that they suspected came from his own stores, but lately fresh deer meat. Tathiel wondered if the deer were starving. It was nearly impossible for any to move about in the deep drifts.

Any fear they may have had of the elusive ‘him’ had faded as the weeks had gone by. He left them food about once a week, and firewood was replenished as the stack depleted. He seemed to know their movements, and if he noted Tinánia with her bow and arrows, searching for food, he left more. Sometimes Tinánia went out before they needed more, as they had not wished to be completely dependent on their benefactor, but by his actions Tathiel determined he did not want them out hunting. She suspected he watched as they obtained water each day, and on one occasion they found a large water skin outside their cave entrance, already filled with fresh water. They had pondered this for a few days, rightly assuming he was warning them to stay inside the cave. They still occasionally heard the howling of the wolves at night, and Tathiel suspected he might be protecting them from that or other dangers.

Legolas finished nursing, and Tathiel set him down with Eärundra, who fed him tiny bits of lembas. He would not be old enough to switch to solid food for some time yet, but he liked the crumbs and Tathiel decided they were good for him. He was growing well, and was the size one would expect a child to be at one and one half years from his conception date. Long and lean already, they suspected he would most resemble his brother Bregolas.

Most elf children spoke by the second anniversary of their conception, and in this he seemed on pace as well. Eärundra was convinced that “babababab” was short for lembas and “nananana” meant Tinánia. The elleth spent much time talking and playing with Legolas, trying to teach him his name as well as theirs. They also told him all about his brothers and sisters, father and mother. They told him about Greenwood the Great, and the beautiful trees in it. He listened, but what he seemed to enjoy most was pulling their hair and the booties off his feet.

Thusly they passed their days. Many days they could not go outside at all, and they played with Legolas and each other. They had collected small stones and made up games of winning the stones or rolling them into each other. Tathiel decided their education should not lack, and taught them of healing, the herbs to use for different ailments and injuries; history of the elves and Arda; and some basics of Quenya.

On this day the afternoon waned, and Tinánia decided she would obtain more water for baths and drinking before darkness fell. She gathered the large water skin, as well as their smaller ones, and headed for the spring. Eärundra was still not walking that well on the snow, but decided to come outside with her for the fresh air and sun. Tathiel wrapped up Legolas as well, for he loved to play in the snow.

“The sun feels so warm today,” Eärundra lifted her face to the sun, and stretched her limbs. She bent carefully at the waist, and turned from side to side. Her hips were still stiff, and the leg she had broken ached some in the cold air, but she enjoyed being able to move freely again.

“Perhaps this snow will begin to melt soon,” Tathiel replied as she set Legolas down on a blanket near Eärundra. “Stay right here; I am going to walk down to the pass and see if it is still blocked.”

Eärundra plopped down near Legolas and began patting together snowballs for him. The snow had been lighter recently, with less water content, and it did not roll into snowballs very well. The sun was melting it some, and she was able to scoop a little together to make a small snow person.

Tathiel walked down to the small gorge and found that she could just see out on to the cliff. The view was still magnificent and now near sunset the sun was a brilliant fiery red. She watched it for a few moments, lost in thoughts and planning for what they would do when the snow melted, when the silence of the afternoon was broken by the mournful howl of the wolf. Another quickly responded, and within seconds it sounded as if the whole pack was answering a summons.

Tathiel jerked from her reverie, and immediately thought of Eärundra and Legolas alone near the cave. She climbed quickly up the pass, and in her haste slipped on the icy snow covering. She did not fall far, but the position was precarious. The cries of the wolves continued, the sound echoing off the canyon walls until it felt as if they surrounded her. She struggled to regain a footing and finally climbed back to the top of the pass. She crawled this time, through the narrow opening and back into the gorge. She was running lightly over the snow then, and back to the cave.

Eärundra and Legolas were not where she had left them. She quickly ran into their snow tunnel, and saw Eärundra holding Legolas near the fire.

“ _Idhren sell_ , Eärundra!” she quickly embraced her. “Stay close to the fire!”

She picked up a long stick, already flaming, that they used as a torch on occasion; it was also a gift from their benefactor. Tathiel flew back up the tunnel, and outside. It was silent now, except for an occasional short howl. She reached the main path, and saw Tinánia ahead of her near the spring. Between her and the child were five wolves.

“Aiii!” Tathiel yelled, and several of the wolves turned at this new noise. Tathiel had the flaming torch in one hand, and the long knife in the other. She continued to approach the wolves, and they growled, but moved off slightly to the left when she waved the flame at them.

“Move slowly towards me, stay behind me though,” she said quietly to Tinánia.

Tinánia picked up the water skins and began edging her way to Tathiel. The lead wolf snapped at her, but drew back slightly when Tathiel waved the torch at him. Tinánia moved a few more steps towards Tathiel. This time the lead wolf, which was near the front and center of the group, and the wolf closest to Tathiel both growled and began moving forward with bared teeth.

Tathiel swung the torch at first one then the other, but the pack had the advantage of numbers, and their hunger overcame their fear of the flame. The leader leapt at Tinánia, and both Tathiel and Tinánia screamed as the huge beast descended on her.

A large arrow struck the wolf in the neck, and he fell. He landed on Tinánia, knocking her to the snow. A second arrow struck barely a second later, taking down the wolf nearest to Tathiel. The three remaining wolves backed off slightly, unsure now that their leader had fallen. A third arrow hit the largest of those three, for he had backed off the least.

Tinánia struggled out from underneath the wolf, and ran to Tathiel, heedless of any residual danger. Tathiel pushed the blood-covered child behind her, and they moved backwards down the path, the torch and knife held out before Tathiel.

The backed into the side path that led to their cave. “Look behind you, Tinánia. Do you see any more wolves? Any up on the cliff wall?” Tathiel asked.

“No,” Tinánia answered.

“Then run for the cave,” Tathiel instructed.

Tinania ran then, and slid down the tunnel into the cave.

To her horror, she found Eärundra and Legolas between the fire and the cave entrance. Large green eyes lay hidden in the dark of the back of the cave, creeping slowly forward to the fire. Legolas lay on his blanket near Eärundra’s feet. Eärundra had her small dagger drawn; a look of terror on her face.

Tinánia ran to Eärundra’s side, pulling her own small dagger. Her bow lay behind her, near the entrance. She grabbed it as she ran. She notched an arrow, and stared at the green eyes in front of her. She did not think she could kill the wolf. She did not know if she should try to injure it. Would an injury cause the wolf to retreat, or to attack? The cave lightened at that moment, and Tinánia knew Tathiel had come.

“When I tell you, shoot the arrow Tinánia,” Tathiel said behind her.

Both little ellyth were almost overcome with relief that Tathiel had come. Eärundra dropped her dagger and turned to run to Tathiel.

Tathiel had the large knife drawn and the torch still in hand. “Pick up Legolas,” she instructed Eärundra, stopping her flight. “Move behind us, towards the entrance.”

Tinánia and Tathiel now stood between the wolf and the children. The wolf had backed further into the shadows when Tathiel entered with the torch, but did not leave.

“Now!” Tathiel cried.

Tinánia released the arrow, quickly notching a second. They knew the first made contact when the green eyes flicked close and the wolf gave a howl of pain. Tinánia shot again when the eyes reappeared, then ceased as Tathiel shoved the torch into her hand, jumping over the fire and then driving the knife deep into the chest of the beast. It gave a cry of pain, and lashed at Tathiel, then staggered and fell back to the ground. Tathiel withdrew the knife as the animal fell, and prepared to stab it again, but the animal did not move.

Tathiel stood still, with the knife posed over the wolf for several moments. When it did not move, she nudged it with her foot.

“Bring the torch Tinánia.”

Tinánia handed her the torch, and she held it up and over the fallen wolf. She noted no movement or signs of breathing.

“It is dead,” Tathiel said, relieved.

Eärundra came near, still holding Legolas, and huddled against Tathiel’s legs. Tinánia pressed against her other side. Tathiel squatted down between them and gave each one a quick look. Eärundra and Legolas were fine; Legolas quiet and his eyes big as if he sensed the fear in them. She turned to Tinánia, and noticed again the blood.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” Tathiel asked her

Tinánia brushed at her clothes, wiping the wolf’s blood off her hands in the process.

“No, this is all from the wolf. Your hand is bleeding, Tathiel.”

Surprised, Tathiel looked to her own hands, and noted the scratches and puncture wounds inflicted by the injured wolf.

“So I am,” she answered. “I did not even feel it.”

Tathiel checked one more time to ensure that the wolf was dead, then moved all of them away from the animal. She built the fire up and heated water. She helped Tinánia to change and checked her more carefully for wounds. The child had not puncture wounds, but she had one scratch on her shoulder and bruises along her shoulder and ribcage from the big animal falling on her. Tathiel then tended her own injuries, cleaning and disinfecting the bite wound, and then applying a healing salve and bandages.

“He killed the wolves,” Tinánia said.

“I know,” Tathiel answered. “We would both be dead had he not done so.”

“Lay Legolas in his bed, Eärundra,” Tathiel instructed. “I need you both to help me.”

They spent the next hour gathering all the large rocks they could find from every crevice and corner of the cave, filling the opening at the back of the cave, effectively blocking access for any other creatures. They had not felt cold air coming from the opening, and had never suspected it led outside.

“A very determined animal may still get in,” Tathiel informed them, “but it will have to work very hard at it and we will hear the noise of the rocks falling if it does.”

The wolf was not terribly large, and was skinny and ragged after such a long winter with little to eat. Tathiel dragged the carcass to the cave opening and up the tunnel into the snow. She left it against the wall, intending to butcher it if possible with the knife the watcher had given them. She noted the bulge to the wolf’s belly, which stood out in contrast to its thin legs.

“You were pregnant, _inu-draug_ ,” she murmured, her hands on the belly of the wolf. “I am sorry that I had to kill you.”

Tathiel stood and looked up into the cliffs. She did not see him, but she knew he was close.  
“ _An mín cuinar, I hannad_ ,” she called softly.

She bowed to him, then went back into the cave.

***

When they arose the next morning they found their filled water skins were in the tunnel. Tathiel climbed to the outside, and saw a snow-wall built several feet above the drift on the path to the spring. The dead wolf she had dragged out the night before was gone.

Tathiel understood the message and left the water skins out each evening. Each morning when they rose, the water skins were filled and waiting for them. Several days later a food pouch was left, containing the dried foods they had come to expect, with some fresh deer meat as well. Also in the package was a pouch made of tanned leather. Inside were small carved animals, each exquisitely detailed: a bear, a wolf, a large cat, a deer, a squirrel, a horse, and rabbit. Nearly a week later four wolf-pelts were waiting for them.

Tathiel carried the pelts inside. “See today’s gift,” she said, stroking the fur.

Eärundra rubbed the pelt with her fingers, and then against her face. “It is so soft.”

Tinánia had already spread the largest pelt out on the ground near the fire, and laid Legolas on it with the carved animals. He lay on his back with his feet in the air, kicking and cooing. He then rolled over on to his stomach and lay with his face pressed into the wolf pelt. Eyes closed, he snuggled his little face into the softness, stroking the fur with his hands. He then rocked up on to his hands and knees, and two exciting baby ‘firsts’ happened.

He coordinated the movements of his arms and legs, and managed to crawl forward a few paces. At the same time he grinned at his adoring audience and dived forward on to his chest as he saw and reached for one of the toys. “Woolf!” he said clearly, and then laughed as he held up his trophy. It was the carved wolf.

***

Varandil removed the bandages from Elunell’s abdomen and chest, and gently cleansed the angry red mark. He eyed his handiwork and smiled.

“I do not think you will even have a scar,” he commented to her, a little smugly.

Elunell sat up and fingered the red mark. The mark was already fading on her chest, although the deeper wound to the abdomen was still quite red.

“You do nice work,” she answered. “Thank you.”

He blushed slightly, “I had a beautiful canvas, but one that I hope is never so marred again.”

At this remark, Sadron and Laerion, who sat repairing arrows on the other side of the tree, rolled their eyes at each other; Sadron snorting and Laerion smirking at him. Both Elunell and Varandil heard the snort, and faces reddened, looked anywhere but at each other. Meren had been standing behind Sadron and Laerion, and smacked them both on the back of the head.

“Ai!” Sadron yelped.

“Jealous, _mellon-nín_?” she sat down next to him.

He scowled at her, then grinned. “No, but I do enjoy seeing them both blush.”

Meren laughed at that, and received a swat to the top of her head as Ethiwen walked by.

The three laughed together then, and Meren joined them in their task of arrow repair.

Bellion, Lachthoniel, Galithon and Rawien were reviewing plans for their raid of the caravan. Rawien had nearly full use of his hand back, and Elunell was recovered enough that they decided to proceed that night. Galithon and Lachthoniel would remove the leader from the camp with Bellion as guard, and bring him back to their camp. They had chosen a secluded spot for their camp, well hidden in the trees on the hillside. The caravan was setting up camp below them on the plains.

The warriors had spent two more nights on the hillside where they had been attacked by Orcs, and counted themselves fortunate that they were not harassed on either night. They had taken an additional three days to catch up with the caravan, taking the journey very slow until Elunell could ride on her own. They had shadowed the caravan until they came to this hill, which seemed the best spot they had seen in some leagues to take the next step in their plan.

Rawien had spoken with them as a group about the discussion he and Ethiwen had the morning of the attack. Many thoughts and ideas were deliberated, and all agreed that speaking to the head of the caravan was the most appropriate course of action. They all hoped the man would be amenable to telling them what he knew of the attack on Balak’s camp and the whereabouts of the missing elves.

“Dinner,” Ethiwen called.

“What do you suppose we are dining on this eve,” Sadron asked Laerion, one eyebrow cocked.

“Why, I would imagine it to be….dried meat and waybread!” Laerion replied with mock excitement. “My favorites!”

The older elves snorted at the humor of the youngest in their midst, but refrained from reminding the two that there could come a time when they would be thankful for even this fare. They ate quietly, speaking in low tones. Galithon, Lachthoniel and Bellion were silent, each running over the choreography for the evening’s raid in their heads. Meren and Laerion provided entertainment for the evening, singing as a duet the lovely but sad ballad of the fall of Gondolin. As the sun drifted behind the hill, the three raiders rose.

“ _Min maer innas aphad, nín mellon_ ,” Rawien grasped Galithon wrist in the warrior’s way.

“We shall be back soon with our guest,” Galithon grinned confidently.

The three rode out silently into the darkness. They approached the caravan from the south, noting the usual lack of guards on the right flank. They had memorized the look of the wagon they sought; it was one of the largest, with a cover made of canvas and decorated with hanging tassels at the back and front openings. The man seldom set up a pavilion, choosing to take his respites in the comfort of the wagon. Twice they had stolen into the camp of this caravan, and each time they had explored his abode.

Bellion held the horses at the base of the hill, and then followed Galithon and Lachthoniel to the edge of the camp. He took up position on the right flank, bow drawn and arrow notched. Galithon walked around the wagon, then entered from the back. The man lay sleeping alone on a pallet in the middle of the wagon floor. Galithon withdrew a gag and rope to bind the man’s hands, and then waited while Lachthoniel slipped in the front. At Galithon’s signal, Lachthoniel covered the man’s mouth, while Galithon quickly tied the gag across his mouth, and then flipping him to his stomach bound his hands. The man had awakened when his mouth was covered, but ceased struggling almost immediately when he felt the cold blade of Lachthoniel’s knife at this throat.

Lachthoniel tossed the man easily over his shoulder. Galithon exited the wagon first, and then waved Lachthoniel to follow. They joined Bellion quickly, the entire raid taking less than two minutes to accomplish. They reached the edge of the hills and their horses, Lachthoniel swinging the man up to Bellion, who held him in an iron grip all the way to the elves’ camp.

Rawien, Sadron and Laerion met them as they rode into camp, a mere hour later. Bellion dismounted then picked up the man and depositing him into Rawien’s care.

“That was quick,” Rawien grinned at Galithon. “No problems, then?”

“No,” Galithon answered, loud enough for the man to hear. “They had few guards on duty.”

The man was seated on a rock, Sadron and Laerion standing so close behind him that the man could feel the warmth of their bodies. Rawien and Galithon stood before him, forcing him to crane his neck back that he might meet their eyes. A small fire burned in their midst, and torches were held by others around them.

“You will answer our questions for now with a shake of the head for no, and a nod for yes,” Rawien instructed the man in the common speech. “Do you understand me?”

The man nodded.

“Did you kill a hill-man named Balak in the Iron Hills?”

The man hesitated a moment, finally nodding his head when Laerion nudged him with his knee.

“Did you kill the women he had with him?”

The man looked surprised, but shook his head vigorously.

Rawien and Galithon exchanged glances.

“Did you take the slaves he offered?”

The man’s eyes showed his frustration, and again he shook his head no.

Rawien nodded at Sadron to remove the man’s gag. Laerion unsheathed his knife at the same time, and held it within the man’s line of sight. The man eyed the long curved blade, then turned his eyes to Rawien again. He did not show fear visible to most, but to the heightened senses of the elves it was palpable.

“Speak,” Rawien commanded.

“The man Balak had no women in his camp or slaves to sell us,” the man spat.

“How many were in the camp when you arrived,” Galithon asked neutrally.

“Four sleeping. Lazy pigs,” he spat again. “Balak had neither the goods nor the slaves he promised.”

“How did you kill them?” Rawien asked.

“I slit Balak’s throat myself,” the man answered without remorse. “My men took care of the others in the same fashion.”

“Why?” Galithon was more curious than anything.

“He promised a pretty she-elf to sell, with goods. I do not care to be deceived.”

Rawien felt Galithon’s hand on his shoulder, and forced himself to relax. Rawien gestured to Galithon, and they both rose and walked a short distance away, leaving the man to Sadron and Laerion.

“You believe him?” Galithon asked Rawien.

“I sense no deceit in him in this matter,” Rawien admitted. “He knows enough to confirm he was present. He knows there were no women; he confirms the number of men and manner of death. He could be lying about Tathiel.”

Rawien and Galithon returned to the man, this time sitting on rocks near him. They said nothing, just watched the man. He did not squirm, but met their gazes with his own.

“May I ask a question?” he asked.

Rawien nodded.

“Who is one she-elf that so many of you would try to recover her?”

“We would recover any one of our own that was missing,” Galithon replied blithely.

Satisfied, Rawien nodded to Sadron to gag the man again. Bellion returned on his horse, and placed the man before him.

“You will be returned to you camp. I appreciate your answers to our questions,” Rawien said and Bellion, Sadron and Laerion left to return the man to his camp.

The remaining seven gathered round the campfire, as Rawien and Galithon related the details of the interrogation.

“Tathiel escaped,” Ethiwen said quietly. “She took the children on a horse, and she escaped.”

Rawien was silent for a moment, glancing at each one in turn, finally resting his eyes on Ethiwen.

“Let us break camp as soon as the others return. We may as well begin our journey back this night.”

*******

**Author’s note:**   
_Idhren sell = wise child_  
inu-draug = she-wolf  
An mín cuinar, I hannad = for our lives, I thank you  
mellon-nín = friend of mine  
Min maer innas aphad, nín mellon = Our good will follows, my friend   



	16. Homeward Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

Tathiel heard the sound of the birds chirping when she awoke that morning. She slid out from the blankets and wolf pelts, careful not to disturb the sleeping children. She gazed down at them, silent, and saw much in them in their sleep.

Tinánia lay sleeping on her back, eyes half-shut and body relaxed. She was still a child by the reckoning of the elves, yet she had taken on many adult responsibilities and proved herself able. She carried herself with a certain confidence that had not been present at the start of the trip. Tathiel thought of the games she had played with Elumeril on their trip to Laketown: Tinánia was the thinker and planner but it was Elumeril who initiated and carried out the plans. Elumeril had been the leader and Tinánia the follower. Now Tinánia led, confident and strong.

Eärundra slept slightly propped on pine boughs and blankets; at an angle she found the most comfortable on her hips and leg. She still had some stiffness and pain, and Tathiel was saddened to think the wounds might not heal completely. She wished them back in Greenwood, and able to call upon the best healers, to be able to allow her hot baths and soothing massages on her sore muscles. So many things she had not been able to do for this child, and yet Eärundra had also proved her courage. She suffered her pain with resilience and tenacity. She had at times wept when the pain was too much, and how they all suffered for her until the pain deadening medications Tathiel gave her took effect. She had pushed herself to sit, then turn over, and finally walk. She gained strength, and on more than one occasion Tathiel heard her willing herself to try harder, that come spring she might walk out of the hills and home.

Legolas lay on his stomach, his little backside in the air and his legs tucked under him, his cheek snuggled into the fur. He had one hand curled round his carved toy, and the other hand twined in the short fur of the wolf pelt. The pelt had become his favorite for cuddling, and he both slept at night and napped on top of it, often petting the “woolf” and chattering to it. He usually carried one of the carved animals around with him, and was entertained for hours with the games his __ellyth__ played with him and his beasts. His vocabulary was growing, and he could now say variations on all their names, plus name his animals and various other objects in the cave.

Smiling, Tathiel stroked his soft head and then stretching, slipped out of the cave into the cool morning air. She picked up the water skins and set them inside the cave. As was her routine, she looked to ridge above them, knowing she would not see him. Yet she harbored no doubt that he was there.

“ _Maer aur, mellon-nín_ ,” she called softly, as had become her morning ritual.

The snow had melted down to just a few feet, the surface icy as the melting snow re-froze each night. It crackled throughout the day, as it shifted underneath and broke. The path to the south was now marked by a large stone; a warning that the trail was too slippery yet for safety. The path to the main trail and spring remained similarly blocked, as it had been since the morning after the wolf attack. The watcher had brought them water faithfully every morning for the last two months. Tathiel had wished to go that way, to get water herself and relieve the watcher of that duty, but they would still hear the howls of a wolf occasion, and she was fairly certain that their fresh meat one week had been bear.

The small barricades left them with essentially a small yard in which to exercise and get fresh air, which they did daily. Tinánia had taken up her bow in target practice against a tree in the clearing, and she was striving for perfection in her skills. Eärundra was quite content to play with Legolas. She pulled him around on top of the skin, riding his wolf skin like a sled. Tathiel was sure his squeals of delight could be heard for miles, and she had tried to curb his loud voice without dampening his enthusiasm for the play.

On this morning Tathiel walked to the borders of their confined yard, and in her desire to see found herself nimbly leaping into Tinánia’s practice tree. She climbed as high as the tree seemed able to support her weight, and surveyed the hills to the north and valley to the south.

The snowmelt had caused flooding all along the Carnen River. Where they normally glimpsed the sparkling waters inside the strips of trees that bordered its sides, now the waters escaped their bounds, advancing far beyond the trees on either side. On the south wall of the canyon, near the ridge that Tathiel had stood so many times to view the valley, the appearance of a waterfall was present. The immense amount of snow thawing had saturated the ground, and it ran wherever the path of least resistance led. Rock and silt had been washed down with the torrent, and whatever path lay beyond the ridge was impassable.

Tathiel felt herself both awed and dismayed by the sight. The vastness of the flooded plain was a sight to behold. In all her many years, she had never seen a flood of this proportion. She had hoped that with the melting of the snow they would soon be able to begin their trek out of the hills. Now, even if they could traverse the snow, the flooded plains and treacherous mudslides would prevent them actually going anywhere.

With a deep sigh, she climbed down from her perch and re-entered the cave.

In his hidden spot on the high ridge, the Watcher sensed her sadness. These hills had seen many cold and snowy winters, and an equal number of spring floods. It would be another full cycle of the moon, plus half of another at least, before they could think to leave their cave. He knew her hopes to be dashed, that her only thought was to get the little ones safely home.

He knew he would miss them. Never had he been responsible for the direct care of others, and he found it rewarding. Yet he knew his mission was nearly complete, and that soon they would leave, returning to their homes and families. He had listened to enough of their conversations to know that the two female-children were related, but not to the adult or the infant. The adult was also not the mother of the infant, for often she sat teaching the little one the names of siblings he had yet to meet, and promises of meeting his father. Of the child’s mother, he knew only that she was in the Halls of Mandos. Already the child could speak that hallowed name.

He would miss the morning greeting.

He shifted slightly to catch the rays of the rising sun, and cleared his mind as he resumed his watch-care over them.

***

The ten warriors stood in a line upon the bank of the river, watching as the black swirling waters rushed past them, pushing tree trunks and debris along its path. The path of the river had widened much beyond its normal course, carving out great chunks of land. As far as their elven eyes could see, the river overflowed its banks. Mud seemed to coat everything left in the wake of the raging waters.

Rawien withdrew, seating himself on a rock, and spreading open on his knees the map they carried of this area. It had limited information outside of major landmarks. The topography was entirely missing east of the river. They did not know if heading further east and then north would provide them with better passage, more of the same, or worse terrain.

“We can no longer follow the river,” Rawien stated as Galithon sat down next to him. “This water will not be fit to drink for some time.”

“We have followed the river for it is the quickest route. We will go further east, and then north,” Galithon replied. “The detour will delay us less than these flood waters. It is also only early spring; these waters may not crest yet for some time.”

The other elves had gathered round, and the normal fare of dried meat and waybread was shared. A fire was made, for the spring nights were still cool.

“When we return, where will we resume the search?” Ethiwen broached the subject that lingered always in the forefront of her mind.

“I have been considering that,” Rawien replied. “We do not know if they made it home, or wintered in a village near the Carnen, or if other trouble befell them. We can return to the King, or we can return to the camp of Balak, and follow the trail east.”

All pondered this, for each choice held advantages. If Tathiel had made it home, further searching was futile and reunions delayed. If they had not made it home, then their search was prolonged and Tathiel and the children struggled longer alone.

“The river may make the choice for us,” Galithon finally answered. “It will be unlikely that we can cross the Carnen until we are much nearer to the headwaters. Our destination will be the southern edge of the Iron Hills. We may as well return to the camp, and see if any trail exists to the east. If it does, then we follow. The worst that happens is they arrive home before us.”

“We can send a messenger to King Thranduil when we reach the traders town,” Rawien added.

All nodded in agreement at this plan. Dusk settled around them, and in the twilight the trees rejoiced at the sound of pure voices raised in song, for never before had they heard of elven-kind. Their passing was noted in the whispering of the leaves.

***

“Legolas, please stay still,” Eärundra tickled him under the chin in an attempt to get his attention.

“Nononononono, play bear!” Legolas stuck his toy bear in her face and grinned.

“In a moment, elfling,” she coaxed him. “Tathiel needs you to be still for just a moment more.”

Tathiel tightened the strap at her waist slightly and stood. Legolas squealed with delight as he suddenly rose high into the air. Tathiel turned and shrugged her shoulders a few times, but the pack seemed secure.

“You can take the wiggly-worm out now,” she laughed as she sat down.

Eärundra freed Legolas from his seat and the straps that held him in place, and placed him back on the wolf-pelt on the floor. He immediately rose to his hands and knees and took off across the cave floor. Eärundra jumped in front of him, redirecting him away from the stones of the fire pit. He changed course, diving face first into the bedding, and then resurfacing a moment later, a look of triumph on his face as he held up his prized wolf.

“How are we going to explain to his father that his first word was ‘wolf’? Eärundra asked.

“I think it will be clear when they see his attachment to that wolf-pelt,” Tinánia laughed, hearing the question as she entered the cave. “What I would like to know is how are we going to get him to sit still in that carrier while we travel?”

Tathiel grimaced, “That I do not know. Sitting still and being quiet are not behaviors normally asked of one his age. I am hoping he will be amused by the many new things he will see.”

Tathiel continued work on the carrier, as the squeals and sounds of play filled the cave. She had taken apart one of the extra packs that they had brought with them when they escaped from Balak. She lined it with the wolf-pelt, and using the knife cut holes for Legolas’ legs. She knew if she wrapped him so he couldn’t kick he would loudly announce his displeasure with the arrangement. She used the straps from the horse’s bridle to hold him in place in the pack, and then fastened the whole thing to the top of her own pack, which she must carry. So far the arrangement appeared as if it might work, but she had yet to try it with her pack fully laden.

“I went to the spring,” Tinánia announced.

Tathiel looked up in surprise, “Were the rocks removed?”

Tinánia nodded. “From both sides. I called to him, to give me a sign if I should not go that way, but none was given.”

“Tell us what you saw!” Eärundra joined the conversation.

“The snow is melted everywhere I looked, even on the higher passes. The area where the rockslide trapped us is covered in mud again. The spring still bubbles, and now has a little stream carrying the water away. I saw a fawn with its nana, just down from the spring. I have not yet gone through the gorge.”

“I will go. I have longed to see beyond our small yard,” Tathiel replied, nearly out of the cave, the laughter of the children following her.

Tinánia sat down on Legolas’ pelt and he immediately crawled to her, his pace fast.

“He is almost running on his hands and knees!” Eärundra giggled.

Legolas piled himself in Tinánia’s lap, grabbing at the ties of her tunic and pulling himself upright in front of her. He tugged on the braid tucked behind her ear, and laughed. He wobbled, then, finally toppling over and landing hard on his bottom. He paused a moment, lower lip quivering.

“He stood! Yeah!” Eärundra was cheering and Tinánia clapped her hands.

The quivering lips broke into a brilliant smile, and Legolas bounced, waving his arms along with them.

“Leges tood!” he proclaimed back.

Eärundra eased herself down onto the pelt, sitting next to her sister, Legolas facing them both.

“Legolas, tell Tinánia what you learned today. Say _Ada_. _Ada_ ,” she encouraged.

“ _Ada_!” Legolas replied, grinning.

“Who is your _Ada_ , Legolas? Say _Ada_ is King!”

“ _Ada_ King!” Legolas shouted back, again bouncing, little arms waving in front of him.

In his excitement he tumbled over, and rolled to his back, feet in the air. He saw his booties, and immediately grabbed for them.

“Booees off!” he crowed, deftly plucking one off and throwing it at Tinánia.

The _ellyth_ dissolved into laughter, and soon all three were lying on their backs on the wolf pelt. Legolas grinned, grabbing at braids and chattering variations of all the words he knew. Eärundra and Tinánia laughed until their sides hurt and they had to stop for breath.

***

Tathiel walked down the path to the gorge, and came out on the ridge. It had been months since she had been able to come this way, and she held her breath as she beheld the beauty of spring that had come upon the land. The buds on the trees had burst into full leaf, and the receding floodwaters of the river now glimmered through the green canopy that bordered it. The grass remained brown and flat in the areas recently covered with overland floodwaters, but the vast plains that ran between the hills and the river were already green, with brief glimpses of early spring flowers visible.

Tathiel stretched her arms to the sky, her face upturned to the sun, as she drank in the sights and smells of spring. _Ethuil_ had always been her favorite time of the year, a time of new birth and new beginnings. This year her heart sang in joy, for soon they would be heading for home. Already in her mind she imagined the first meeting of the King and his son; saw the child with his siblings and she could feel Legolas enveloped in their love. She pictured Tinánia and Eärundra racing into the waiting arms of their parents. She could even picture herself enveloped in the arms of one she hoped would welcome her home with that same heartfelt joy.

Overhead, on the rock ledge, the trees murmured their joy that spring had at last come. The watcher sat high in the branches, blending into the leaf canopy and the trunk as if he were wrought of the same materials. He leaned against the trunk, feeling the life flowing through it, and agreed with it that soon their visitors would be leaving. He had traveling provisions prepared. Tonight he would leave them what they needed for their journey home.

***

Tinánia’s squeal woke Tathiel from sleep, Eärundra stirring next to her and Legolas nearly popping upright. Tinánia dropped a pack next to them, then sprawled down next to it and began removing items.

“Look at all that he left! It is time!” she exclaimed. “It must be time!”

Dried strips of meat, dried fruit, nuts, and edible roots, foods all nourishing and compact enough to carry, were arranged in numerous small packages, each one of sufficient quantity to last for several days. A slightly larger bow and new arrows were included for Tinánia, who squealed again as she saw the intricate design carved into each shaft. Tiny moccasins made to fit Legolas were wrapped in a small hooded cape.

Eärundra had joined Tinánia in digging through the package, awed at the kindness shown them and amazed at the beauty and thoughtfulness behind each item. Legolas crawled over their laps, digging into the pack and snared a new toy with one small hand. He tumbled over them, and sat content, inspecting the duck that had been added to his toy collection.

Tears streamed down Tathiel’s face as Tinánia and Eärundra held up each treasure for her inspection. A goose was handed to Legolas, who bounced with glee. Eärundra handed her a scrap of hide that was carefully folded and wrapped in oilcloth. She opened it and stared at it, stunned. It was a detailed map of the hills, showing her exactly the route she should take, the final destination clearly marked as the Woodland Realm of the elves in the Greenwood. She buried her face in her hands. They were going home.

***

Tinánia and Eärundra stood near the entrance, their packs securely fastened, cloaks tucked carefully through loops for easy access when nightfall came. Tathiel had set her pack outside the cave, and held Legolas in her arms. In one corner of the cave lay the items they could not carry; the extra pack and some of its goods. They had their bedrolls, and each of them had opted to bear the extra weight of a wolf-pelt; Legolas soon to be wrapped in his.

Legolas was dressed in a tunic of soft deerskin, made from that left by their benefactor in early winter. He had on the new moccasins and cape, and his wolf-pelt was draped over Tathiel’s arm. He carried his wooden wolf; it was his most beloved toy and Tathiel figured the least likely to go flying from small hands.

They all turned and looked one last time at what had been their home for nearly nine months. No tears were shed, for the joy of their destination was still too strong. Eärundra led the way out of the cave, and they stopped under the ridge where Tathiel had spoken her daily morning greeting to their friend.

“ _Mae govannen, elvellon_ ,” she called to the hill. “You have held our lives in your hand all these many months. If not for your kindness and watch-care, we would surely now be in the Halls of Mandos. We owe you our life-debt, _mellon-nín_ , four times over. There are no words adequate to express our gratitude for all that you have done. _Hannad, muin min. Navaer_!

Tathiel, Tinánia, and Eärundra all bowed, then Tathiel put Legolas into his carrier and shouldered her combined pack-baby carrier. The map led them through the gorge and onto the ledge and the trail that led down into the valley.

Legolas, facing backward in his pack, held up his toy in the air, and called “ _Navaer_!”

The watcher left the canopy of the tree and appeared on the cliff edge, his hand raised in farewell to the small child, who waved his hand excitedly in return at the being he saw, a grin on his small face. “ _Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo, tithen min_ ,” he murmured silently to the child.

Legolas was the only one to ever see their friend.

***

Tathiel led them down the trail along the canyon ridge. They came across many spots that showed evidence of rock and mudslides, and several times they had to carefully pick their way through the debris that still littered the trail. One spot along the trail narrowed so tight to the wall, with a long drop to their right, that they each kept one hand on the cliff wall, the other on the person in front of them, a length of rope tying the three together in line. To Tathiel’s relief, Legolas seemed to sense the tension, and ceased the constant wriggling and bouncing that normally defined his movements.

They were a half day on the trail when they came to a small alcove sheltered by an overhang of rock above them, and shaded by a tall tree that grew into the trail on the other side. Tathiel chose this spot for their camp, ever watchful of Eärundra who had begun to lag. Tathiel eased out of her pack, and released Legolas from his bindings. He kicked and flung out his arms, nearly causing Tathiel to drop him, in his joy at being free. She hugged him close, and he tore at her tunic, the fresh air stimulating his appetite.

Eärundra had dropped to the ground, her pack already serving as pillow as she stretched out tired and sore joints. Tinánia sat attentively at her side, offering her water and bits of nuts and berries. Tathiel smiled, relieved, and she settled against the wall and set Legolas to nurse. He curled against her, his cheeks flushed from the sun, and he reached up his free hand, pushing himself up when he did not find that which he was seeking.

“Mine!” he said, a small scowl on his face, as he pulled on the braid behind her ear.

Tathiel laughed, and freed the braid, allowing him to weave his fingers through her loose hair. Satisfied, he snuggled back to her breast, her hair curled with his fingers against his cheek. Tired eyes drifted closed, and he suckled until he drifted into sleep.

Tathiel laid out her bedroll and placed Legolas’ wolf-pelt on top of it. She laid him in it and wrapped him loosely in its warmth. She placed the toy wolf in his hand, and he cuddled it to his chest. Tinánia sat down next to him, and watched over him. He moved so quickly now that to leave him unattended so near a steep cliff was an invitation to disaster.

Tathiel moved to Eärundra, and laid the child’s bedroll on pine boughs that Tinánia had collected. She spread the wolf-pelt on it, and then added her own for more padding. She gently lifted Eärundra, who was already asleep, and laid her on the makeshift bed. She could feel the tight and cramped muscles, muscles trying to protect the poorly healed bones and joints they supported.

In her medicine chest were vials of oil; she opened one and massaged the soothing oil into Eärundra’s lower back, hips and legs. She felt the muscle gradually loosen, and the child relaxed into deep sleep. After tucking blankets around her, Tathiel crawled into her own bedroll and snuggling Legolas in the crook of her arm fell into light sleep, aware now that their protector no longer watched over them.

***

They took the trip slowly, allowing Eärundra to build up strength and stamina, and Legolas plenty of opportunity to get out and play off his restless energy. It took nearly two weeks to leave the hills and cross the distance westward to the trader’s village just east of the River Carnen. They camped that night within elven sight of the village. It would be their first contact with people, and Tathiel took this last night to evaluate the opportunities civilization could provide.

They might find a messenger to precede them; to deliver a message of their journey home to the King, and aid could be sent; an escort allowing Eärundra to ride instead of walk with a heavy pack. They could replenish food supplies, purchase with what little coin Tathiel carried in her medicine chest, dried meat and cram, the waybread of men, to finish their journey. Tathiel even allowed herself the luxury of thinking of a warm bath and a night’s rest in a real bed.

She would not waste resources on luxuries, but the thought of a messenger being sent, and aid meeting them on the road home filled her heart with longing. She sat on her bedroll, back resting against a tree, Legolas cuddled in her arms; and she decided they would venture into the village come morn.

***

Ethiwen stood on the highest rise near their camp she could find. For four months they had battled cold and wet weather; delays waiting for floodwaters to recede; and at their most remote sites, far to the east and north they had battled Orcs twice and, to their horror, men once. The men were Easterlings, a rather ragged group who bore the remnants of savage weapons. They were thin and starved looking, and had happened upon the elven party quite by accident. The elves had offered them food, and perhaps due to the inability to effectively communicate, the men had attacked. All were eventually slain in a very one-sided battle, truly the worst any of the younger elves in their party had ever experienced. They had not fought or killed men before, and the act was both distasteful and disturbing. It was but one more example of the evil they had experienced in the eastern lands.

From the rise, Ethiwen could make out the eastern most edge of the Iron Hills. Rawien had estimated that at their current pace they would reach the camp from which they were now sure Tathiel and the children had escaped, in one week.

While she doubted they were still in the hills, she harbored hope that they were not far ahead, that soon she would see her children. Her heart raced, and had Elunell not come for her, she might have stood on that hill the entire night. Her mind was fixed on them and home. Soon she would have them home.

*******

**Author’s note:**  
 _Ethuil = spring_  
ellyth = elf-maidens (plural, I think)  
Maer aur, mellon-nín = good morning, my friend  
Mae govannen, elvellon = Well met, elf-friend  
mellon-nín = friend of mine  
Hannad, muin min = thank you, dear one (thank you in Neo-Sindarin)  
Navaer = farewell (neo-Sindarin)  
Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo, tithen min = A star shone on the hour of our meeting, little one  



	17. Karan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

Tathiel woke with the dawn, and quickly roused the children. She took extra care to ensure that they all were as clean and presentable as possible. She fed Legolas while Tinánia and Eärundra ate a quick breakfast. Shouldering their packs they stood, and looked off into the distance; at the village named on the map as Karan.

Tathiel glanced at the children, noting their tenseness and knowing that her own apprehension and excitement was affecting them. Even Legolas was subdued in his carrier on her back, his feet kicking gently as he sang softly in his baby voice words only he could understand. She smiled at Tinánia and Eärundra.

“Are we ready, _ber _ellyth__?” she asked.

Tinánia grinned, and taking Eärundra by the hand started marching toward the city. Tathiel laughed out loud then.

“Let us follow, Legolas, the brave ones are leading the way!”

They reached the town late in the afternoon. The markets were busy with activity, as the inhabitants purchased and traded for the foodstuffs and household items needed for their families. Several people stared at the strange foursome, for they had not often seen elves. Stray dogs wagged their tales and ran to the _ellyth_ , who patted their noses and stroked their backs. Legolas was enraptured by these furry creatures, and began clamoring to get down. Tathiel eased her pack to the ground.

“Cease squirming, _tithen min_ , and I will remove these straps,” she whispered in his ear, as she tried to loosen the straps.

She finally extricated him from the pack, the whole process delayed several times over as he kept pushing and pulling and tugging to be released. He flung himself out of her arms, landing on the hard ground in front of one of the dogs. Tathiel nearly dove on top of him, concerned for how the animal might react, but the dog merely wagged its tail and licked his face.

“Woolf!” Legolas shrieked with glee, his hands tugging at the dogs fur at his neck.

“No, that is a dog, Legolas. Dog,” Eärundra corrected him. “Say ‘dog’.”

“Dawg!” Legolas agreed, still lying on his back, the fingers dug deep in the dog’s fur as the dog sniffed him and licked his chin.

Tathiel picked him up, gently prying small fingers from the dog’s fur. Legolas struggled for a moment, finally quieting when Tathiel told him firmly, “No.” He knew the tone well enough to know she meant it. His attention then turned to all the activity around him. For the first time since he had gained his voice, words failed him and he gripped Tathiel’s tunic tight in his hands.

Vendors in their stalls, wares hanging from bars and hooks, called their prices and described their goods. Shoppers weaved amongst each other, examining items of interest and negotiating prices. At the far end of the market were the husbandmen and butchers; cows, sheep, and chickens available for purchase live or butchered.

As they moved into the throng and the sounds increased, Tinánia and Eärundra found themselves pressing into Tathiel’s side, each with a hand gripping her tunic. Legolas was nearly buried in her neck, hiding his face just enough that he could see, but imagined no one could see him. Twice the small _ellyth_ had been into Laketown, but accompanied then by warriors who picked them up and carried them above the throngs of people who towered above them, and whose packages always seemed in danger of knocking them in the head.

Tathiel moved determinedly forward, searching for a stall that might belong to a vendor of the healing arts. It was at such stalls that she had spent time with people of the race of men, and where she hoped to find where a messenger could be hired. They walked the length of the market, stopping at the end to admire the young calves for sale, then passing to the next row and walked nearly the length of the market again. Finally Tathiel saw an old man and a younger woman seated in a tidy little booth, dried herbs hanging in bunches from ropes strung about the stall. On their table sat rows of glass bottles, some containing dried herbs, others tinctures and oils. She stopped in front of the stall, bowing slightly.

“I seek vials of massage oil; a relaxing lavender and sandalwood perhaps?” she inquired.

The man immediately sorted the vials on the table, and procured two for her. He opened the containers, allowing her to sniff the aroma. She nodded her acceptance and asked the price. He offered her a fair price, and she accepted with dickering. Practitioners of the healing arts considered it terrible form to quibble if the asking price was fair.

“You are visiting our city?” the man asked, noting their packs. “Do you have need of other items with which we might assist?”

Tathiel smiled, relief visible on her face.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied formally. “We have but one other immediate need. Where might we hire a messenger?”

“A messenger for a short or long journey?” the old man inquired.

“Perhaps a fortnight each way, if the messenger has a good horse,” Tathiel answered.

The man pointed at a building near the corner of the market. “That is the hall of the city. Those available for such work may be found there, or someone will notify them of the need.”

The woman had not yet spoken, but had been studying the four before her. She recognized them as elves, and her memory was stirred to a similar request for a hired messenger. She never knew what the message entailed, for the elves had stayed only long enough to write the note and hire the messenger before they left the city.

“Do you have people near here?” she asked.

Tathiel looked surprised. “I do not believe so. Have….have you seen others?” she asked, feeling hope rising in her heart.

“Last fall, near harvest time, two he-elves came into the city, also requesting a messenger. They did not stay long and I at least have not seen them since,” the woman explained. “It had been long since we had last seen elves in our town. Sometimes in Laketown, but not here.”

Tathiel felt as if her tunic might rip, and reached down with her free hand to gently loosen Eärundra’s, and then Tinánia’s hands. They were both staring at her, and then at the woman, wide eyed. She felt tears welling in her eyes, and quickly bowed her head.

“Thank you,” she said, and gripped the woman’s hand.

“You are welcome. Do you need somewhere to stay? You look like you have been long on the road.”

“Long, yes. Very long indeed,” Tathiel replied, grateful for the kindness. “We have what we need, and wish only to continue our journey. Thank you; I will go see to the messenger now.”

She turned, and guided the children in the direction of the hall when the man’s voice stopped her.

“The river remains difficult to cross in places and the lands on our west side are not yet fit to camp upon. If you plan to camp, stay to the east of the city and begin in the morning. There are rafts to help you cross at the end of the main street,” the man waved his hand in the general direction of the crowd.

“Thank you for your kindness,” Tathiel called over her shoulder, acknowledging the man’s advice.

They entered the hall, their eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness within. Men sat upon benches, some with their feet propped on tables; others amusing themselves with games. A heated argument in one corner could be heard throughout the hall, with accusations of cheating being countered with claims of inferior goods. Tathiel’s arm tightened around Legolas, and she felt Tinánia and Eärundra press closer to her.

A desk sat to the side of the hall, near the far end. Tathiel walked the length of the hall, well aware of the eyes that followed them, the conversations that stopped. She reminded herself to breath in and breathe out with each step, until finally they reached the desk.

A man sat there, studying the papers in front of him, although Tathiel knew he had watched them arrive and walk to the desk. She waited patiently for the man to acknowledge her; it was in the end Legolas that gained his attention when he dropped ‘woolf’ on the man’s desk, then nearly dove on to said desk to retrieve his cherished toy.

“May I help you?” he inquired, slowly looking down the length of her, then back up, barely sparing the children a glance.

“I wish to hire a messenger,” Tathiel explained.

“To go where?”

“To deliver a message to King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, in the Greenwood,” Tathiel answered softly. “If the messenger had a good horse, I would imagine a fortnight in each direction.”

“You have money?” the man asked brusquely, taking in their well-worn clothing and packs.

“Yes,” Tathiel stiffened.

“How much?”

“Enough for the fee,” Tathiel answered tersely.

The man laughed. “No offense meant, little lady. Do you have the message prepared?”

“No, I need ink and parchment,” she relaxed slightly.

The man opened his desk drawer and handed her the needed supplies. He wrote a fee on the corner of the sheet. Tathiel glanced at it, and replied, “Half now; half when the message is delivered.”

The man laughed yet again, and wrote the terms next to the fee, initialing the number and motioning her to do the same. When she had finished, he handed her the supplies and waved her to the nearest table.

“Janal, move. Sit there, and write your note. I will round up the messenger. He will leave this eve, if you so desire.”

The man Janal moved from his spot, settling his large frame at the next table, never once taking his eyes from her. Tathiel, Tinánia and Eärundra all removed their packs and set them down, and then sat on the benches. Tinánia took the now sleeping Legolas, and held him that Tathiel might write.

Tathiel spread the parchment in front of her, and pondered for a few moments what exactly she might say. How did she tell the King that she was bringing his infant son home and she wished him to meet them; or better question – how did she write this without smearing the ink with her tears?

_Norui 1,_

_Suilannad, King Thranduil,_

_Tinánia, Eärundra, Legolas and I write you this message from the town center of Karan. We have wintered in the mountains, and seek our way home. A messenger we send ahead to speed news of our arrival to you. We follow on foot, and respectfully request an escort meet us._

_We are well. Tinánia and Eärundra wish their parents to receive this news and come to them as soon as they may. Legolas is a fine child. He grows strong, and knows many words._

_We look forward to being home._  
Your faithful servant,  
Tathiel 

Tathiel handed the note to Tinánia and Eärundra that they might read it. They handed it back, silent; tears in their eyes. Tathiel rolled the note, and sealed it with the official wax seal of the city of Karan. The town clerk had returned, and he offered Tathiel a leather pouch. She slipped the note inside, and returned it to him along with the required payment.

The messenger had arrived, a young man with an honest face. He smiled at her, and took the pouch.

“Have you been to the Halls of King Thranduil?” she asked respectfully

“Yes, my lady,” he grinned. “I delivered a message there last fall.”

She sighed with relief; he would know the way; would know the signal for getting the attention of the guards to gain an escort to the King’s Halls.

“Thank you,” Tathiel said warmly. The messenger strode from the hall, and mounting his horse, left on his errand.

Tathiel and the young _ellyth_ shouldered their packs again, and Tathiel carried Legolas in her arms. The nodded good bye to the clerk, and then left the hall the way they had come. Tathiel led them slightly north on the east side of the city, to find a clearing to camp for the night before heading west in the morning.

The men arguing in the corner had ceased their discussion when the elves had entered the hall. The one had left immediately. The other remained seated at the table. He watched the woman, saw her kindness with her children. He thought immediately of his mother, and then his thoughts drifted to his son. A slow smile spread across his face. He waited until she had finished her business, and when she left the hall he followed at a discreet distance. He noted when she stopped in the camp area on the northeast side of the village. A plan formed in his mind, and Hazad returned to the common house in which he had wintered.

***

Ethiwen scowled at the mud that seemed to cover everything she wore, her horse, and her pack. A journey they had hoped would take but one week was nearly done, but in twice that time. For safety’s sake they had walked their horses across the field of mud that spanned as far as their eyes could see.

“There is a stream ahead, with clean water,” Galithon approached her. “We will make camp near there.”

Ethiwen glared at the mud again, and then looked up sharply when she heard laughter. The rest of the party was laughing at her. She looked at herself, thinking she must be exceptionally dirty, but they were all equally filthy.

“If looks could kill, this mud would be dead!” Sadron chuckled.

“I thought that scowl was the property of her husband,” Laerion added.

Ethiwen raised an eyebrow at him, “How would you know that?”

Laerion laughed, but had the grace to blush slightly. “I have been on the receiving end on more than one occasion, my lady,” he bowed to her.

Ethiwen reached down, as if to pick the mud off her boot, and instead retrieved a finger full and flicked it at Laerion, catching him on the chin. “I think someone needs a bath.”

Laerion grinned, and caught Sadron’s eye. Before Rawien or Galithon could move, the two had rushed Ethiwen, picked her up and ran to the creek, dumping her rather unceremoniously in the cold water.

Much scuffling and laughing occurred before the others joined the three. Ethiwen dunked Laerion, and then rolled Sadron face first into the water. He flipped her back, submerging her completely before she knocked his legs out from underneath him, sending him sprawling on his backside. Laerion was quickly back in the fray, knocking them both over. After several minutes they desisted. They were all soaked, but much cleaner.

“I would have prevented that if I could,” Galithon admitted. “But I think it did her some good to physically work out some of her frustration.”

Rawien just smiled. He waved the others to the water, and with Galithon set up camp. Sadron and Laerion were assigned to wash the horses– downstream from the bathers – while others took on the task of washing clothing and blankets.

It was a much cleaner party of elves – and horses - that laid themselves to sleep that night. Clothing an spare blankets were freshly washed and hung in the trees, which rejoiced at the laughter and songs of those that first taught them to speak.  
The next morning they proceeded to the spot where they had helped to bury Balak and his men the previous fall. Meren was the one who had noted the tracks heading east, and she directed them to the area. Galithon examined the spot.

“I did not expect to find a trail,” he admitted. “Snow and mud have removed any traces.”

“If they escaped, I also do not expect that tokens would be left,” Rawien reminded them all.

They headed east then, following what seemed the most likely course to their eyes. They branched off several times, exploring side trails and paths. Near the end of the second day of their search, a call from Lachthoniel brought them all running.

He was standing in a small clearing beneath several tall conifers, a broad smile on his face, one arm wrapped around the trunk of the largest tree.

“They have been here!” he called as the others joined him.

They all heard the whispers as they gathered round: the trees spoke of their joy at meeting the young elves, how they had greeted them and slept beneath their protection for a day.

The trail became easier then, for the ravine to their north and the rock face to their south channeled them one direction. They came to the spring, and here the trees were most helpful, for they had spent the long winter with the young elves nearby and recognized these as more of their kind. Lachthoniel found the cave, and it was Ethiwen’s cry that brought them running.

Ethiwen knelt in the corner of the cave, the discarded pack and goods before her, and she wept for joy.

Galithon explored the cave, noting the rock-packed opening at the rear, the remains of the fire pit, and then poking through the items left behind. He had been further along the path, and seen evidence of the unstable cliff wall and the rocks cleared off the path. They had not gone that way. They had not returned the way they had come. He slipped out of the opening and turned to the right, south, and followed the trail through the gorge, finally coming out on the ridge. Tracks had been left; very light and perhaps imperceptible to the mortal eye, of three walkers.

“They have been this way recently,” Rawien said behind him.

“A week or two,” Galithon confirmed. “They no longer have a horse, and travel on foot. Shall we explore ahead, see if the path is suitable for horses?”

Rawien grinned, and the two sprinted forward at the same moment. Rawien was the faster runner, and leapt lightly along the path. They halted as the path narrowed.

“They moved most cautiously here,” Galithon felt the cliff wall. “Our horses will not be able to pass here.” He glanced ahead. “Or further along this path.”  
The two returned to the cave, where the rest of the party awaited them. There was much soft talking, noting items around the clearing. The tree which had been used for target practice, the arrows from Tinánia’s small bow barely penetrating the bark, but leaving a mark nonetheless; marks of child’s play – tiny hands and feet that crawled in soft dirt leaving the faintest of tracks.

Decisions were quickly made. Lachthoniel and Sadron were the fastest runners, and would follow the canyon pass. The rest would backtrack, and meet them on what appeared to be a more well-worn trail far below. They wasted no time. The ones they tracked had only a several week head start, and were on foot and moving slowly. Hopes rose among them all to soon overtake them.

***

Hazad returned to his room, and surveyed the items on the bed. He already had the wagons packed, and had only to add his personal items. His men expected to leave at dawn, and they planned to follow the river all the way to the Sea of Rhun and their home beyond. This last year had been one of the most trying of his adult life, and he was glad to be leaving. Trapped by a snowstorm and then delayed by floods, he longed to return to the more temperate climate of the hills of his child-hood home.

He thought of the woman he had just seen, and was reminded of his mother. She was long dead, but remained forever in his thoughts. He had found a wife himself, and indeed been content with the marriage. She had borne him seventeen sons. It was his son he thought of now, his youngest son, Tal-Elmar. Named for his grandmother, for he inherited her good looks and spirit. His son was worthy of a woman as unique as his own grandmother.

Hazad saw no flaws in his plan. He quickly gathered up his things, and slipped out quietly into the night. He packed his few things into his personal wagon, and then found his brother Guryn. He enlisted his aid, finally agreeing to allow Guryn a small share of his profits in exchange for his help. Guryn arranged for the rest of the party to leave at dawn, as scheduled, then joined his brother.

They left the wagon on the outskirts of town, to the east of the village, for their home lay east of river. The village campgrounds on the northeast side of the city held only the camp of the woman on this night. They approached the camp stealthily, noting the children asleep in their bedrolls. The woman appeared to hear them, and sat up, alert.

“Who is there?” the woman called, alarm in her voice.

One of the children roused, and the woman appeared to whisper to her.

Hazad knew he had to act quickly, or they might raise an alarm and spoil his plans. With a quick motion to his brother, they darted into the camp. The woman saw them coming, and attempted to free herself from the infant curled with her in the blankets. Hazad reached her before she was loose, and grabbed he by the hair, clamping one hand over her mouth. Guryn quickly gagged her, and then grabbed for the older child, who held a dagger in her hand. He twisted her small arm painfully with his one hand, while clamping his other hand over her mouth. She dropped the dagger, and he gagged her, then quickly drawing forth a length of rope bound her hands and feet. The smaller girl awoke in the scuffle and was quickly bound and gagged as well. The infant they only gagged, then pushed him into the woman’s free arm. The other arm they tied to her side. Hazad and Guryn each tossed a child over their shoulder, and prodding the woman to walk they hurried to the wagon. The children were dumped inside and left where they lay. The woman’s feet were tied, and then strapped tightly to the binding at her waist that held down her bound arm. Her free arm held the baby, and they bound him to her. It was possible to free herself, but not without dropping or injuring the baby. The men hurried back to the campsite, quickly gathering up the packs and bedrolls, and covering all evidence the woman and children had been there. It was an oft-used site, and would be difficult for anyone to know these had been present.

The wagon left town in the quiet of the night, heading south along the road.

In the back, four terrified elves wondered what awful circumstance had befallen them; all their hopes of reaching home were dashed, and tears of despair washed silently down their cheeks.

*******

**Author’s notes:**   
_ber ellyth = brave elf-maidens_  
tithen min = little one  
Norui = June  
Suilannad = greetings 

For a little background on a few of the new characters I will be introducing, please read the excerpts below. Christopher Tolkien wrote that he believed the story of Tal-Elmar to be set during the time of the Numenoreans coming to Middle-Earth. There is little developed of the story, but these initial characters are wonderfully developed and were exactly what I needed for this next part of my tale.

Hazad and Tal-Elmar are borrowed, out of what little context they are given, from the chapter entitled “Tal-Elmar”, The Peoples of Middle Earth, History of Middle Earth Volume XII edited by Christopher Tolkien. I have excerpted a few passages:

_…….there lived in the green hills of Agar an old man, by name Hazad Longbeard. Two prides he had: in the number of his sons (seventeen in all), and in the length of his beard (five feet without stretching); but his joy in his beard was the greater. For it remained with him, and was soft, and ruly to his hand, whereas his sons for the most part were gone from him, and those that remained, or came ever nigh, were neither gentle nor ruly. They were indeed much as Hazad himself had been in the days of his youth: broad, swarthy, short, tough, harsh-tongued, heavy-handed, and quick to violence._

Save one only, and he was the youngest. Tal-Elmar Hazad his father named him……..He was tall…with light grey eyes that would flash to fire, if he were wroth;…..

For Tal-Elmar had a strange belief…that the old should be treated kindly and with courtesy, and should be suffered to live out their life-days in such ease as they could…………

Hazad loved this youngest son dearly, in return for his love, yet even more for another cause which he kept in his heart: that his face and his voice reminded him of another that he long had missed. For Hazad also had been the youngest son of his mother, and she died in his boyhood; and she was not of their people. Such was the tale that he had overheard, not openly spoken indeed, for it was held no credit to the house: she came of the strange folk, hateful and proud, of which there was rumor in the west-lands, coming out of the East, it was said………

Now Buldar, father of Hazad, has been in the army of the king…..and he brought back from the war as booty a wound, and a sword, and a woman. And she was fortunate; for the fate of the captives was short and cruel, but Buldar took her as his wife. For she was beautiful, and having looked on her he desired no woman of his own folk. He was a man of wealth and power in those days, and did as he would, scorning the scorn of his neighbors. But when his wife, Elmar, had learned at length enough of the speech of her new kin, she said to Buldar on a day: ‘I have much to thank thee for, lord; but think not ever to get my love so. For thou hast torn me from my own people, and form him that I loved and from the child that I bore him. For them ever shall I yearn and grieve, and give love to none else. Never again shall I be glad, while I am held captive among a strange folk that I deem base and unlovely.’

‘So be it,’ said Buldar. ‘but it is not to be thought that I should let thee go free. For thou art precious in my sight. And consider well: vain is it to seek to escape from me. Long is the way to the remnant of they folk, if any still live; and thou wouldst not go far from the Hills of Agar ere thou met death, or a life far worse that shall be think in my house.’……..

Thereafter Elmar said no more on this matter; and she was indeed a woman of few words while her life lasted, save only to her children. To them she spoke much when none were by, and she sang to them many songs in a strange fair tongue; but they heeded her not, or soon forgot. Save only Hazad, the youngest; and though he was , a were all her children, unlike her in body he was nearer to her in heart. The songs and the strange tongue he too forgot, when he grew up, but his mother he never forgot; and he took a wife late, for no woman of his own folk seemed desirable to him that knew what beauty in a woman might be…….  



	18. Frustration and Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

Lachthoniel and Sadron sprinted down the trail, noting areas where the ones they pursued stopped or camped. Pine boughs piled on the ground at each campsite, but only for one bedroll; occasionally tiny bits of waybread crumbs or a dropped nut or berry; and at one spot Sadron nimbly climbed a tree, pulling out an arrow. He grinned as he returned; he and Alagos had helped make that arrow.

“One is injured,” Lachthoniel noted as they paused at a campsite. “See – here are markings of an adult and infant – see the tiny handprint here? Tathiel and Legolas; and here the bow was laid next to the bedroll – the outline is here – just visible in the trail dust – that must be Tinánia. The injured one must be Eärundra.”

It took them but a day to race the distance that had taken the Tathiel and the children three. The two had just left the hills behind them, and begun following the trail that snaked around the southern face of the hills when they were joined by the remainder of the warriors. Sadron and Lachthoniel quickly mounted, and the warriors turned and followed the way they had come.

“We found one spot where they had camped,” Galithon informed them.

“Was there a pile of pine boughs?” Lachthoniel asked.

Galithon nearly stopped his horse in surprise. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

“We found the same at three different spots,” Lachthoniel responded. “We believe one of the ellyth is injured; most likely Eärundra.”

Ethiwen was riding ahead, and abruptly turned her mount, causing Sadron’s horse to rear up and step aside. Fear on her face, she asked, “What kind of injury? How do you know?”

Lachthoniel explained the markings they saw, but was quick to add that though she might be injured she was clearly walking unaided and carrying her own pack. Ethiwen calmed some at this news, retaking her spot in line, but all noticed she stepped up the pace some.

As they approached the town of Karan, they were unable to distinguish the trail of any one person. Many carts, wagons, horses, cattle, and feet had trod the grass and dirt, and marks were indistinguishable. The elves set up camp outside of the village as night fell. Hope remained in their hearts that Tathiel and the little ones would have stayed in the village and sent ahead for help. Even if they had gone ahead, Rawien hoped to hear word of when they had been there.

When morning came, Rawien, Galithon and Ethiwen entered the village. Bellion, Laerion and Meren explored the perimeter of the city, checking out possible campsites and wagons where people might choose to sleep. Varandil and Elunell stayed in camp with the horses, and Lachthoniel and Sadron explored the southern hills near the mouth of the Carnen.

In the village, vendors were setting up their stalls and laying out their wares. Rawien stopped the first vendor he saw, and asked the location of any inns or common houses. The small town had but one, and it was quickly found. The keeper had neither seen elves nor had any unescorted women and children rent rooms that spring.

“Where else might Tathiel have gone, if she did come into the city?” Galithon asked aloud.

“She would find those who practiced the healing arts if she had questions or needed help,” Rawien replied thoughtfully. “I do not know if she had money to pay a messenger, but if she could she would send word home.”

“She must have purchased foodstuffs,” Ethiwen added. “I do not know how they survived the long winter on nothing more than what lembas they might have had in their packs.”

“There we have our assignments,” Rawien delegated. “I will find the healers; Galithon will check at the hall to see if they sent a messenger, and Ethiwen will look around the market.”

Galithon walked around the market, and headed to the city hall. He entered the dim interior, empty this early in the morning except for the clerk.

“More elves!” the man exclaimed, rising to his feet. “Have you come to send another message?”

“No,” Galithon replied, holding his voice steady. “What do you mean, ‘more elves’? Have others been here?”

“A she-elf with her children,” the man replied. “Just about a week ago. Sent a message to your King, she did. Same place as you; I even sent the same messenger.”

“How did they appear?” Galithon asked, his gaze never leaving the man.

“They looked weary and very travel worn,” the man shrugged. “Like they had been on the road for a while.”

The man was shrinking back from him, and Galithon quickly looked away. He did not mean to intimidate the man, and he wanted any information the man could provide.

“Please, I wish only information,” Galithon raised his hand, palm up, hoping to put the man at ease. “Sit, and tell what you can of them, for we have been searching for them for some time.”

The man remained standing, so Galithon pulled up a chair and sat, motioning for the man to do the same.

“Three children. One an infant, probably not yet a year in age. He dropped his toy on my desk. Cute little boy. A girl this high,” he held his hand about shoulder height, “and a smaller one. The smaller one moves stiff, doesn’t have the same grace as the other two. She-elf carried the baby in here, but had a carrier on her pack for him to ride. Clothing tattered, but they were clean.”

“Did they appear hungry or afraid?” Galithon knew Ethiwen would wish to know.

“No, looked quite fine,” the man assured him. “Came in her; wrote the note and paid half the fee, then left here.”

“When?”

The man pulled out his log, and looked up the date. “June 1”

“Today is June 7,” Galithon thought. “Do you know if they stayed in town? Was she going to wait for the messenger to return?”

“That I don’t know,” the clerk kept his eyes down. “She didn’t seem too comfortable, so I doubt she would have stayed around here.”

Galithon’s eyes narrowed, his eyes intense upon the clerk. “Did anyone bother her? Harm her?”

“No, sir,” the clerk mumbled. “Some of the men stared at her, but you know it isn’t often we have a she-elf come through. Your women are quite comely.”

Galithon forced his voice to remain steady. “What time of day was it?”

“Near dinnertime,” the man answered. “Market was just closing down.”

“Thank you for the information,” Galithon stood, and strode quickly from the hall.

Rawien and Ethiwen were walking among the vendors, many of the stalls unoccupied this early in the morning. Galithon joined them, speaking first.

“They were here on June 1. They sent a messenger ahead.”

Ethiwen’s face lit up, and he quickly related the information he had just learned. She frowned at the comment about Eärundra being stiff and lacking in grace, but just having the child in her arms again was all she cared about.

“The cloth vendor in the first row recalls them entering the market area,” Ethiwen related what she had learned. “Legolas wanted to see the dogs. She said they looked tired, but had no more to say than that.”

“I did not find any vendors of the healing arts,” Rawien added. “Perhaps it is too early in the morning.”

“I think they have continued on,” Galithon said. “Let us return to camp and see what the others have learned.”

Meren, Laerion and Bellion had returned to camp, and reported that people were encamped at various sites around or outside the village, but all had been friendly and forthcoming; most fascinated at seeing elves, and none had seen any other elves in the city. Lachthoniel and Sadron had scouted up the Carnen, but saw no evidence of camps in the hills.

“They must be on their way home. They have but a six-day head start on foot. We may be able to catch them in just a few days,” Rawien smiled at Ethiwen.

Ethiwen was already swinging her pack and bedroll over the flanks of her horse, who whinnied and stamped his foot, quickly catching the excitement of his mistress. The others laughed and camp was broken within minutes.

They crossed the Carnen in town, the waters having receded enough for the horses to make it without incident. Ferries were available for crossing wagons and people across the waters. Rawien spoke to those who operated the ferries; none working that day recalled having aided a woman and children.

“We don’t operate these at night, though. We just leave one on each side of the river, and people can pole themselves across,” the old man explained.

Rawien felt a stab of discomfort; this was a place where he would have hoped that Tathiel had help and someone would have remembered them. But, they were there in the evening and the rafts were unmanned. He shrugged off the thought, and caught up with the others waiting on the west bank for him. They set off a quick pace, in hopes of overtaking the walkers in just a few days.

***

The messenger dismounted near the tall elm tree, where the river angled north and passed into the lands of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. He had made good time, arriving in only ten days. He set the flag in the tree and then sat down beneath it, and opened his saddlebag for lunch. His horse drank water from the river and grazed. He had been here once before, and now knew what to expect. He had been instructed exactly on how to notify the elves of his presence as messenger; there was naught to do now but wait until an escort came to meet him.

It was nearly an hour later when the mounted and armed guards appeared. The messenger stood, and waited while the lead guard dismounted. He swiftly held up the message pouch, which the guard took. He opened the pouch and removed the scroll, then walked back several horses to an elf in the middle of the party. This elf opened broke the seal, and quickly read the note.

Bregolas had accompanied the guards, that he might read the message and determine if the messenger should be brought before the King, or paid and allowed to return home. The guards had recognized the young man as the one who had delivered the message Rawien had sent from Karan the previous fall, and had approached the King with the news prior to sending guards to meet the man. Bregolas opened the note, quickly read it, and then re-read it. It took all of his training to hide his emotion. He motioned for the guard to escort the messenger to the palace.

“The King will wish to speak with you,” the guard informed the young man. “You will accompany us to his Halls.”

It was not a question, and the young man did not interpret it as such. He knew not what the message said; and thus did not fear the contents. He was afraid, yet strangely excited to meet the elven King. He mounted his horse and found himself quickly surrounded by the guards.

Bregolas galloped ahead to the Great Hall, dismounting quickly and allowing the guard there to care for his horse, who snorted his disapproval at his master’s behavior.

“It is important, Urevio,” Bregolas called to the stallion. “I will be back soon.”

He ran into the hall, stopping a guard near the stairs.

“Is Urithral with my father?”

The guard barely managed to nod his head when Bregolas cut in, “Please see that my brothers and sisters come at once,” and then he continued on to the court of the King.

He burst in the doors, the herald unable to announce his arrival. King Thranduil rose as he saw his son enter, and all conversation ceased. Bregolas hurried to his father, giving a cursory bow of respect as he reached him before thrusting the note into his father’s hand.

Thranduil opened the note and quickly scanned the contents. He clutched it with both hands, unmoving for a moment, before raising his eyes to meet those of his sons. He quickly hid the emotion there.

“The messenger?”

“Waiting outside, _Adar_ ,” Bregolas fell to familiar language in his haste.

Thranduil turned to Urithral, and held the message out to him. Urithral strode forward, his face unreadable. He took the note, his eyes scanning it several times before handing it back. When he did, tears sparkled in his eyes and relief flooded his face. Thranduil grasped his arm, and much was spoken in the look that passed between the two men who had shared so much grief in the last year.

Thranduil motioned the guards to allow the messenger to enter, and the herald announced the arrival of the young man.

“Daras, of the city of Karan”

The young man walked tentatively forward, stopped when he saw the guard motion and bowed before the King.

“Be at ease,” Thranduil instructed. “We merely wish any news you can tell us of the one who gave you the message.”

Daras nodded, but remained silent.

“The one who gave you the note…..?” Thranduil gently prodded him.

“A she-elf, my Lord,” Daras finally managed. “Tall, with brown hair. She had three children – two female and a baby boy. The girls did not speak and the baby slept. She asked me if I knew how to get here and I said yes, for I delivered a message last fall from one of your soldiers.”

“How did they appear?” Urithral prompted.

“They looked worn – tired, and their clothing was well-used. The woman seemed relieved. I didn’t speak to her, not really, just took the message. The children were sitting at a table and I did not speak to them at all. I am sorry, my Lord,” Daras stammered.

King Thranduil smiled at him. “Thank you for the information. My aid will see you paid the remaining fee, and ensure you are provisioned for your journey home.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Daras bowed again, and was led away, a look of absolute relief on his face.

Thranduil dismissed the court, and soon only he, Urithral and his children remained. The message had been passed around and read by all. Bregolas spoke first.

“Father, may I have permission to organize a party of warriors to serve as escort?”

“You wish to lead this group?” Thranduil inquired.

“Yes, my Lord,” Bregolas responded officially.

“Granted.”

Bregolas flew from the room, for he planned to be organized and on the trail within the hour.

“I wonder where our warriors are,” Urithral wondered aloud what they all were thinking.

To this there was no answer, just speculation. The warriors had headed east, and yet Tathiel indicated they had wintered in the hills. They knew the elven warriors would return when they did not find that which they were seeking.

Word spread quickly that the return of the missing elves was imminent, and it seemed as if everyone had something they needed to do. Lathron and Celebrinduil organized preparations for Legolas’ homecoming. Traditionally the youngest child occupied the room next to the King and Queen until they came of age or another child was born. Elumeril still occupied this space. New chambers had been prepared for her prior to Legolas’ birth, but she had not wished to move after the death of her mother. Today she was excited to help her brothers organize the new arrangements of the household. She moved to her new chambers, and they planned the look of her old room for this young brother. Seamstresses were already making new clothing for him, and toys were being made or unpacked from storage of items of his older siblings that were appropriate for his age.

Tathiel’s chambers had been kept up throughout her absence, but received on this day a special cleaning. Her clothing was cleaned anew and a new gown was ordered. Even though they were not expected for at least a week, fresh flowers appeared and were replenished every other day.

Servants of the palace had also been dispatched to the home of Urithral and Ethiwen. Their chambers were also cleaned from top to bottom; their clothing washed, flowers placed, and food was stocked.

Bregolas did indeed leave one hour after the messenger arrived. Daras had departed immediately, anxious to return home and also anxious to tell everyone that he had been into the realm of the elves. No one he knew had ever done this before, and the experience would afford him celebrity status. The elven warriors overtook him later in the day. If he thought the guards of the King impressive, he found fully outfitted warriors intimidating.

Included in the party led by Bregolas was Orchalthon, who had been with the original traveling party attacked in the Iron Hills. He had outlined the attack of the Orcs and where they had lain in wait. Tathiel and the three children would be easy prey for the Orcs, and this thought was utmost in the minds of the party of fifteen that Bregolas led east.

This thought was also not far from the thoughts of the party of ten that Rawien led west. Galithon wondered if Tathiel had continued on her own rather than wait for help because of the way the men had stared at her at the hall; or if they had neither money or items to trade to afford to stay within the protection of the city; or if she simply wanted to get home. He thought it was probably a combination of the three.

Rawien led his party west, and by the end of the third day they had seen no signs of Tathiel and the children, nor overtaken them. They followed the main road that lead from Karan to Laketown, riding wide on either side and using calls known to all wood-elves. By the fourth day they were concerned. They had reached the rock formation just to the west of the Iron Hill, where the Orcs had attacked, but found no evidence that the elves had been near the area. Orcs had been there recently though. Evidence of foodstuffs, broken arrows, and a campfire were found in a hollow on the west side of the rocks. Galithon and Lachthoniel inspected the camp at length.

“Orcs have been here in the last few weeks,” Galithon said quietly. “But I do not see any signs of elves having been here.”

The warriors traveled some distance ahead, and then stopped themselves to make camp. Ethiwen paced, finally sitting down next to Rawien and Galithon in the circle of elves.

“Even with six days head start we should have overtaken them,” Ethiwen said, concern etching her face. “Surely we are riding at twice the pace they can walk. And no signs of them either,” her voice trailed off.

“Do we continue forward or backtrack, in case we missed them?” Sadron asked.

Rawien was silent, pondering that very question. If they had left the road, perhaps they did miss them. On the other hand, they had called out regularly, and heard nothing in return. It disturbed him greatly that they had no trail to follow since leaving the village of Karan. Something was not right.

“Let us go on as far as Laketown,” Galithon suggested. “If the messenger has successfully delivered his message, I would expect to meet an escort party near there.”

Rawien nodded his agreement, keeping his concerns to himself. They would reach Laketown in just a few days.

***

Bregolas reached Laketown the second day, and sent several warriors into the city to search for Tathiel and the children. The rest searched the outskirts of the city. No one camped this summer on the grassy knolls outside of the town gates; the Orc attacks to the east had led to warnings to all travelers to stay within the city walls. No sign of them was found in Laketown, as expected, and Bregolas led his party quickly onward. It was nearly a day later when riders were spotted.

“There is a party approaching,” Lachthoniel called to Bregolas. “It is Rawien!”

Bregolas’ party broke into a gallop, and the parties met a short time later. Rawien and Bregolas met, arms clasped, followed by identical expressions of dismay and confusion.

“They are not with you?” Bregolas looked all around, anxiety growing.

Rawien’s gaze dropped. “No, nor have we seen any signs of them since they arrived in the village of Karan. We had hoped when we saw you…..”

Bregolas signaled for the warriors to dismount, and the twenty-five warriors gathered in a circle to talk. Rawien told them about the events that had occurred since they had sent word to the king; and Bregolas spoke of the arrival of the messenger.

“They must be somewhere between Karan and here,” Bregolas said finally. “What harm other than Orcs might have befallen them?”

Rawien was silent, a nagging disquiet growing in his mind. He listened to Galithon and Bregolas debate Orc activity and where they were last seen; how easy of prey one she-elf and three elflings would be; and the wish that they had remained in the safety of Karan and waited for their escort. Finally he spoke.

“Perhaps Karan was not safe,” he stated quietly.

All voices silenced at this soft pronouncement, as each took in this thought and processed it.

“The clerk in Karan said she was not ‘comfortable’ and he did not think she would stay in the village,” Galithon repeated the words he had heard.

“The men at the river crossing had not seen any elves, and no woman traveling with children,” Rawien added.

“So Orcs are only one of the dangers they faced on the way home,” Bregolas finished.

Rawien stood and walked from the circle of elves seated on the ground. He looked east, towards Karan, and then at the Iron Hills and north towards Erebor. He turned back to the group.

“Bregolas, by your leave, I will take a group back to Karan. I wish to interview more of the people of the town; see if any strangers had been seen that day; see if anyone had left he village around June 1, which is when we last have sightings of them,” Rawien said.

“We will scour the lands from the Iron Hills to Erebor,” Bregolas nodded his assent at Rawien. “If Orcs have taken them, we will find them.”

The warriors remounted, and Bregolas sent two of his elves with Rawien.

“Let us have messengers travel in pairs. Send word to us when you know something; we shall do the same. If we find nothing, we will return to the Halls of the King and await word from you there.”

Bregolas squeezed Urevio’s flanks lightly with his knees and led his party north. Rawien and his party returned east.

***

The young woman and older man sat in their stall in the marketplace, selling potions and remedies to the townspeople. Occasionally some made appointments to see the healer at his house, and twice he had left to tend to minor injuries and illnesses amongst the people of the village. It was mid-afternoon when the young woman noticed the elves in the marketplace. The two male elves looked familiar to her, and she thought they might be the same two that had come into the town nearly a year before seeking a messenger. The she-elf she did not recognize. The woman nudged the man next to her, and guided him with her eyes to the trio.

“I think they are the same ones that were here last fall,” she whispered.

“I think they all look pretty much alike,” the man grunted. “But, this is the second appearance of elves in our town this month. Do you suppose these three have anything to do with the she-elf and children that were here earlier?”

“I would find it hard to believe if they did not,” the woman replied. “We should have asked her to stay with us.”

“You did try, daughter,” the man answered. “She wished to keep going.”

“I am going to ask them if they know her,” she whispered, standing.

Just as she stood, the trio did notice her and approached the stall. One of the male elves stepped forward, and bowed slightly.

“I am Rawien of the Woodland Realm,” he introduced himself. “I am seeking one of our people who is a healer, who was in this town on June the first…”

The woman’s face lit up, and she nudged her father, interrupting the elf. “I knew it!”

“Knew what?” Rawien asked.

“That you must be somehow tied to the she-elf that was here several weeks ago,” she explained. “We so seldom see elves, and to see two groups in less than a month….well, I just knew you had to be connected somehow.”

“You spoke to Tathiel?” the she-elf of the trio asked as she stepped forward.

“She did not say her name,” the woman answered. “She purchased two bottles of massage oil, and then asked where she might hire a messenger for a fortnight trip. My father sent her to the city hall. We asked if she needed somewhere to stay, but she said they wished only to continue. My father told her if she wished to camp, then she should do so on the northeast side of the city, since the ground was still so muddy and wet on the west side. He told her that a ferry would help her cross in the morning. Then she left and went into the hall.”

“Did you see her when she came out? Did you see which direction she went?” Rawien asked.

“No,” the man answered. “She arrived near sundown, and we packed up our goods after she left. We did not see her again.”

“Is she well?” the woman asked tentatively.

“We have not seen them,” Rawien replied. “The messenger reached his destination and an escort was sent to meet them. We were several days behind them. We did not overtake them, nor did the escort. We have not come across any signs of them.”

“I am sorry,” the woman replied softly. “She seemed so anxious to be home, and those three darling children too.”

“We thank you for the information and appreciate your kind words,” Rawien replied. “We plan on asking around town if anyone else saw her. If we had more questions, how might we find you?”

“We are here in the market most days,” the old man replied. “You may find us here, or in that building, on the corner there, where we live and treat our patients.”

Rawien thanked them, and they went next to the city hall. Galithon approached the clerk again, who recognized him immediately.

“The messenger returned this morning,” he said, surprised. “He said the message was delivered, he had met your King, and been paid in full for his service.”

“All of this is true,” Galithon replied. “I come seeking information.”

“I have told you all I know,” the man answered defensively.

Galithon raised his hand in supplication. “The she-elf and the children have not arrived at home, nor were we able to find them on the trail. An escort that left within hours of your messenger also did not see them. The last place they were seen was here.”

“She left here, going right out that door. I did not see her after that.”

“Was anyone else here when she left? Did anyone leave right after her?” Galithon questioned.

“There were many men in the hall,” the man remained defensive.

“Were any not from this area? Did anyone leave right after her?” Galithon asked again.

The clerk was silent for a moment, thinking. He recalled the rather loud argument going on in the corner, Janal sitting at the next table, the men playing cards. The argument ceased long before the messenger came to get the message.

“I can only think of one who was not from the town. I do not remember his name, but he argued with Mahal the trader that day. Mahal may remember; he has a store several buildings down the street, on your left. I don’t remember when the other man left. Your elves departed and I returned to work. I paid no attention.”

“Could you write down the names of the men you do recall? We would like to ask them if they recall anything about the direction our people took when they left, or if anyone left with them,” Galithon asked.

The clerk sighed, reluctantly taking out a piece of paper and ink. “Give me some time.”

“We will go speak to Mahal and then return,” Galithon replied.

Mahal’s store was easy to find, and the man behind the counter responded to the name when they greeted him with it.

“More elves,” he said as he looked up at them. “Well, well. What can I get you?”

His voice and mannerisms were kind, and his mouth was upturned in a perpetual grin. He came out from behind the corner, ready to begin showing them goods.

“We seek only information at this time,” Galithon said. “We appreciate any help you can give us.”

“Ask away,” Mahal replied, seating himself again on the bench by his counter.

“You said ‘more elves’ a moment ago. Have you seen others?” Galithon asked.

“A she-elf and elflings were here a few weeks ago. Saw them in the city hall talking with the clerk,” Mahal answered. “I needed to return to my store, so I did not speak to them.”

“The clerk said you were arguing with a man not from here. Did he leave with you?”

“Hazad,” Mahal muttered darkly. “That man is a stubborn as a mule and about as bright as one too. Kept insisting he had paid too much for his goods because he had to pay to stay here all winter after the heavy snows and a lame horse prevented him from leaving. How those two circumstances should determine my prices, I do not know.”

“Hazad,” Rawien repeated. “Where does he hail from? Do you know any more about him?”

“Someplace far south. Didn’t ask the name of the town. He stayed at the common house, might ask old Sarzan about him. He had to put up with him and his people all winter,” Mahal answered.

“Did he leave the hall with you?” Galithon asked again.

“No, he sat back down at the table when I left. Come to think of it, he seemed right taken with that pretty elf of yours,” Mahal laughed.

“Thank you for the information,” Galithon replied. “We will go to the common house, as you suggest.”

“All the best to you,” Mahal called as they left. “Be sure to come back if you need supplies!”

The common house was on the other side of the marketplace. They knocked on the door, and a hunched old man answered the door.

“We seek a man named Sarzan,” Rawien said. “Mahal sent us.”

“I am Sarzan,” the man answered.

“We seek information about a man named Hazad that stayed here this last winter,” Rawien explained.

“Hehe,” Sarzan cackled gleefully. “Mahal did not like that man; no he didn’t. Hazad bothered him all winter about the price of his goods.”

“Can you tell us where he was from, and when he left?” Galithon asked.

“Don’t know the town name; some place down near the Sea of Rhun,” Sarzan answered. “Left on June 1 in the night though. He paid his bill that morning. Came in and got his things that evening and they left at dawn. Couple of his men stayed here – one his brother. Guryn was his name. All left that next morning.”

“A female elf and three children were here that day,” Rawien told him. “Did you see them at any time?”

“Nope, someone else asked my wife about them. Never had no elves stay here.”

“Did Hazad mention any word of them?”

“Not to my recollection,” Sarzan shook his head. “Paid his bill and left his room tidy, that’s about all I can say of his leaving.”

“Did you have any others staying here then?”

“Nope, the floods kept most people away. Hazad and his people were the only ones here these last months, and they left soon as was practical,” Sarzan replied. “Floods are bad for business.”

“Thank you for your help,” Galithon bowed slightly to the man.

The three returned to the city hall, and the clerk presented them with his list. All of the men except for the one who argued with Mahal were local, and the clerk indicated all lived in town. When the name Hazad was given, the clerk did recognize it, but had no other information about the man.

Disappointed and frustrated, the three returned to camp to mull over all they had learned and discuss it with the rest of the warriors. The accounts of all they interviewed were discussed at length as they examined the words and motivation of each person.

“I don’t think they even crossed the river,” Rawien summed up the discussion. “My gut instinct tells me they were taken by Hazad and his people.”

“Wouldn’t an Orc attack seem more likely?” asked one of Bregolas’ warriors.

“They left a clear trail from the cave to the village. They were told where to camp and then to cross the river in the morning. No one remembers them crossing the river, and yet many people remembered them being in the village. Every place we visited made comments about our elven heritage. Had someone helped them cross, they would remember it,” Rawien defended his position. “The only foreigner in these parts besides Tathiel and the children is this man from the south. He leaves that night or in the early morning, unseen by any. I do not know if he truly fancied Tathiel, or if that was an interpretation by Mahal, but my heart says they have gone south.”

There was a long silence as each person considered the words.

“Then we go south,” Galithon finally stated. Then he grinned, “Again.”

There was a light ripple of laughter around the circle at that, but general assent among the group. None wished to turn back. When morning came, the two warriors from Bregolas’ group left to deliver the message. Should Tathiel and the children be found, a messenger would ride down the Celduin to notify them.

The warriors stocked up with provisions at Mahal’s shop, much to his excitement. He also offered a promise that if the pretty she-elf returned, he would personally offer her coin to pay for a room at the common house until an escort could arrive to meet her. Rawien thanked him, and visited the healer’s house as well, asking them the same help of them. The healer restocked Varandil’s supplies free of charge, and sent them on their way with their best wishes.

It was mid June when the ten warriors departed south along the still muddy Carnen River road.

***

“If you aren’t going to have her, let me!” Guryn yelled, nose to nose with his brother.

“She isn’t for you! She is for Tal-Elmar and you will not touch her,” Hazad yelled back, each word punctuated by a stab of his finger to his brother’s chest.

In the back of the wagon, Tathiel huddled in fear, Tinánia sitting to her side, and both Eärundra and Legolas in her lap. Tears ran unchecked down Eärundra’s face. Tinánia’s hands were balled into fists, and her eyes flashed both fear and fire. Legolas was silent, his face buried in Tathiel’s neck and his little body stiff. Tathiel silently rocked them; glad her own arms were wrapped about small bodies, for otherwise she would shake in terror herself.

For several nights they had heard this argument, and each footstep near the wagon brought fear. They had not left the wagon in days, for even Hazad seemed to fear what might happen to them. He brought them a crude chamber pot for them to relieve themselves, and food and water. He even cleaned and rinsed Legolas’ swaddling as needed. While Tathiel was thankful for these small kindnesses, she feared that one night he would not be able to stop his brother or the other men.

“You are drunk! Go to bed and to sleep!” Hazad yelled again at his brother.

They heard the sound of glass shattering as a liquor bottle was broken against the wheel of the wagon.

“I said give her to me!” Guryn’s words were starting to slur.

There was the sound of a scuffle, and then Guryn’s face appeared in the opening to the back of the wagon.

“Come here, pretty elf,” he cooed at her, before he was jerked backwards, falling hard to the ground.

They heard sounds of Guryn being dragged away, still mumbling his threats, and then the camp was silent.  



	19. Journey to the Sea of Rhûn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

Tinánia and Eärundra leaned against the back of the wagon, the tops of their heads just visible above the opening. They watched as the heavy rain clouds blew quickly west as the summer storm ended. The storms occurred often at night, the winds shaking and rain pounding the canvas covering of the wagon. Lightning would flash in the sky, followed by loud crashes of thunder. Tinánia and Eärundra would watch the storms, wrapped in a blanket as the fury howled around them.

“Now the stars come out,” Tinánia whispered to Eärundra. “Look, there is Eärendil; we have missed very little of his journey across the sky.”

Legolas crawled over the pelts and blankets spread across the wagon bed, finally reaching his _ellyth_. He crawled over and up their legs; finally pulling himself upright by holding on to Tinánia’s tunic and shaking her when she did not immediately acknowledge his presence.

“Hello Legolas,” she whispered in his ear as she picked him and into her arms. “We are watching the stars. Have you come to watch the stars with us?”

“Nania stars,” Legolas agreed, resting his head against her cheek as he looked out into the darkness.

“Stars are in the sky, Legolas,” Tinánia pointed upwards. “See the bright lights? Those are _Elenath_.”

Legolas looked up, pointing his hand up with Tinánia’s. “Nath,” he whispered back to her.

“You are very smart Legolas!” Eärundra encouraged him. “You are learning many new words every day.”

Legolas grinned at her. “Leges an Rundra wurds.”

“Yes, Legolas and Eärundra are learning many new words,” Eärundra agreed as she kissed him on his nose. “Unfortunately, I don’t think he should be learning some of the words he has heard recently.”

“I hope he will forget them as soon as we are away and he no longer hears them repeated,” Tinánia grimaced.

“Do you think we are going to get away?” Eärundra asked softly.

“Yes,” Tinánia was resolute. “We will. Tathiel will find a way and we will help her.”

“I’m scared for Tathiel,” Eärundra admitted. “I think those men want to hurt her.”

Tinánia shifted Legolas to her right arm, and then pulled Eärundra into her left, cuddling her close. “There is one good thing about these storms,” she whispered. “Those men don’t sit out by the fire and drink and fight and say stupid things.”

“Are you scared, Tinánia?” Eärundra asked.

“Yes,” Tinánia whispered.

Legolas’ had been nearly asleep, his head tucked under Tinánia’s chin. He raised his head, and touched Tinánia’s face. “Leges cared too,” he said solemnly, then laid his head back down on Tinánia’s shoulder and drifted into sleep.

***

Tathiel lay near the front of the wagon, her eyes closed and tears gently trickling down her cheeks, as she listened to the hushed conversation of the children. She was more afraid than she had ever been in her life. She had been terrified when Balak and his men had murdered Narawen and Alagos in the cave; but that fear lessened as the days went on and neither Balak or any of his men bothered her. They had hardly even acknowledged her or the children. The Orc attack, the wolf attack and the rockslide had all been terribly frightening, but the fear she had felt then paled in comparison with the fear she felt now in the presence of these men.

When these men fought, they fought over her.

The man Guryn wanted her; wanted to lie with her. Tathiel knew about rape, had heard about it happening to females of the race of men. There was also the rare tale of a she-elf being raped; by Orcs or by men. Tathiel would wish to die, but who then would protect the children? Who would get them home?

How was she going to protect them and get them home?

Tathiel felt small bodies press close to hers as Tinánia laid Legolas in her arms, and then she and Eärundra crawled on to their blankets and fell fast asleep. Tathiel lay awake for some time in the darkness, feelings of hopelessness and despair consuming her as silent sobs shook her body.

***

The morning dawned bright and warm, the long grasses quickly drying in the sunlight after the night’s rain. Tathiel had woke before dawn, and slipped silently from the wagon to watch the sun rise. She had learned over the past weeks that the men did not wake early, the effects of the night’s drinking lulling them senseless until Hazad forced them to wake or left them behind and scrambling to catch up later. Mornings had become a safe time to leave the wagon, to stretch her legs, wash, and exercise. She washed her face and hands in water from the rain barrel attached to the side of the wagon, and then woke Tinánia and Eärundra that they might do the same.

Legolas woke up a few minutes later, stretching his arms and legs out straight on top of his wolf pelt, then he rolled over and sat up, rubbing his eyes. His hair was tousled, and he was silent for a moment as he looked around the wagon. His eyes finally fell on Tathiel, and his face brightened.

“Tafiel," he said, holding his arms up for her to pick him up. “Leges hungry.”

“Good morning, elfling,” Tathiel said as she picked him up and hugged him close for a moment, kissing him on the forehead.

She washed him up and changed him, and then fed him bits of soft dried fruit and lembas crumbs. He crawled into her lap, tugging at her tunic. She looked around the camp, and noted that only Hazad was awake. He was caring for the horses, feeding and saddling them for the day’s journey. She settled herself against the wagon wheel, out of sight of the other wagons, and untied her tunic. She enjoyed this time with Legolas; he was so active now that quiet times to cuddle and sing to him were a joy. He still nursed with her hair twined in his fingers, eyes closed and little body cuddled against her. She listened to the quiet sounds of Tinánia and Eärundra talking as they ate their breakfast, and let her mind drift to home.

She dreamed of their homecoming; of the joy the parents of the _ellyth_ and Legolas would feel at being reunited with their children. She pictured Legolas with his siblings; in particular Elumeril and Lathron, who would be most taken with the elfling. She envisioned a long hot bath and sleeping in a real bed. In her daydream she could feel Rawien’s arms around her. She was sure he was one of the warriors who had been searching for them. While she knew it was his duty, she wondered if he also cared for her.

She imagined waking in the morning, and having nothing to fear.

She heard someone approaching her, and opened her eyes just as a Guryn kneeled next to her, his foul breath on her cheek. “Pretty elf,” he growled, “you are going to be my pretty elf.”

She cried out in surprise and jumped to her feet, her quick reaction knocking Guryn off balance. He fell to the ground, landing on his backside. Her tunic was yet untied, and Legolas had begun to cry at this sudden interruption to his breakfast. She backed up, clutching Legolas to her.

“Stay back!” she warned him.

Eärundra and Tinánia had jumped to their feet when Tathiel cried out, and stood watching Guryn stalk her. Guryn charged, grabbing Tathiel by the arm and pulling her to him. She struggled against him, trying to protect Legolas, who was sandwiched between their bodies, screaming. Guryn slapped Tathiel across the face, and grabbed Legolas from her, flinging him several feet into the tall grass.

“No!” Tathiel screamed, trying to run to the now silent infant. Guryn grabbed her by the hair, pulling her back hard to the ground. He fell on top of her, pinning her beneath his considerable weight. With one hand he attempted to secure her hands over her head; with the other he fondled her exposed breast.

Tathiel fought back in a way she had never fought before. She kicked at him, scratching at this face, and finally heaving him off of her. He landed on his back, and she jumped to her feet, racing to where Tinánia and Eärundra were leaning over Legolas.

Hazad had heard the screaming and commotion, and ran to the side of the wagon. He saw his brother regaining his feet, already in a forward charging motion after Tathiel. He ran himself, tackling his brother from behind and they both fell to the ground. Hazad pinned him.

“Stop! I told you not to touch her,” he hissed at Guryn.

Guryn struggled for a minute, finally conceding to his brother. Hazad let him up, allowing him to sit. Guryn had bloody rivulets down the side of his face, and a bruise on his cheek.

“That is one strong she-elf,” he muttered. “Breaking her is going to be a challenge.”

“She is not for you! I told you,” Hazad growled at him, “leave her alone. She is to be the wife of Tal-Elmar! He will deal with her, if need be.”

“He is not man enough to deal with the likes of her,” Guryn spat.

Tathiel had run to the children; Eärundra sat nearly hidden in the tall grass and Tinánia kneeled next to Legolas. His face was beet red, his eyes large and he was panicky, his hands waving frantically in the air.

Tathiel gently picked him up and held him loosely in her lap, whispering soothing words to him. He finally drew in a breath of air, and then another, the gasps both frantic and painful. On his third one he let forth a bellowing scream that Tathiel was sure could be heard for leagues around them. Scream followed scream, and then finally he just sobbed, large tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Tathiel, what happened to him? Why couldn’t he breathe?” Eärundra asked, her hands shaking and tears coursing down her cheeks as well.

“He hit the ground hard and it knocked the breath out of him,” Tathiel explained softly as she rocked him in her arms.

Tinánia had been sitting next to Eärundra, comforting her as Tathiel consoled Legolas, when she saw Hazad approaching them. She jumped to her feet, and leaped between him and Tathiel. He stopped in front of her, and then went to brush her aside as he continued forward. Tinánia did not move from her spot, and Hazad nearly tripped over her.

“Move out of my way, child,” Hazad said in a low voice, his anger barely contained.

“You will not harm Tathiel or Legolas!” she informed him.

Hazad stopped and sighed. He met her gaze, and was taken back by the intensity and anger in her eyes. He found himself lowering his own eyes.

“I am trying to see if they need assistance,” he explained.

Hazad stepped around her, and knelt in the grass near Tathiel. He looked at the infant, his face red, his features grimaced, hands clutching Tathiel’s hair and tunic. He still sobbed, hiccups now wracking the tiny body as well.

“Is he injured?” Hazad asked gently.

Tathiel shrank back from Hazad’s hand as he reached to touch Legolas’ head. He withdrew his hand and moved back a pace.

Tathiel ran her hand up and down the small body, feeling each limb and bone. He cried out when she touched his shoulder, but only for an instant. A few small bruises already appeared on his legs and his little tunic was torn.

Tathiel stood and walked back to the wagon, quickly moving inside. Eärundra followed and then Tinánia. Tinánia gave Hazad a pointed look before she crawled in.

Hazad rose with a sigh, and picked up the remains of their breakfast. He hitched the horses to the wagon, and resumed the journey.

Inside the wagon, Tathiel continued to rock and hold Legolas until he calmed. He snuggled close to her breast and resumed suckling, more for comfort than for food. He held her hair and tunic tightly in one hand, the other hand dangled limply in Tathiel’s lap. She gently slid the tunic back off his shoulders and saw the bruises there.

“He must have landed on the ground on that shoulder,” Tathiel murmured. “It is not broken, though, and he will recover quickly.”

Legolas’ grasp on her did not loosen until he fell into deep sleep. Tathiel gently pried fingers from her hair and clothing, and placed the sleeping child in Tinánia’s arms.

Tathiel turned her back to the girls, but not before they noticed the bruising and welts around her breast where Guryn had grabbed her. She washed the skin quickly, and retied her tunic before seating herself next to the children again.

“I did not know there were men who would harm an infant,” Tinánia said softly, hugging Legolas close. “I did not know this evil existed.”

Tathiel trembled, fear still coursing through her. Hazad had taken their weapons. She saw little means of escape, for there were more men in this group, scattered among different wagons and they ate and slept at different times. And she was afraid. She knew now that Guryn would kill the children; would rape her if he could. Hazad held them captive, and yet he was also their only protection. Even if she could overpower or somehow incapacitate him, their fate would be far worse in the hands of the other men.

Tathiel drew her knees up to her chest, and buried her head in her arms, willing herself to stop shaking. She must watch, must hope for means to escape. She felt Eärundra’s arm slip around her leg, and remembered how terrified the _ellyth_ must be. She raised her head and straightened, then drew Eärundra into her lap and Tinánia and Legolas into the crook of her arm. They sat silent and afraid, and drew what comfort they could from each other.

***

Hazad led the small caravan all that day, stopping only occasionally to rest and water the horses. He set food and water inside the back of the wagon, but did not look inside. They traveled until dark, making camp under the light of the moon.

It was a clear night, and the men sat inside the circle of the wagons. Guryn was already drinking, as were several of the other men. On this night Hazad did not sit with them. He placed himself next to the wagon, his knife in hand, along with a club and his whip. The only person in the group that had challenged him about the elf was Guryn. Hazad feared he might lose his prize, his new ‘daughter’, if the men were to band together with Guryn in his efforts to have the she-elf.

The children could become a problem, Hazad knew. He had had to bring them with him when he captured the she-elf. She would not have come so easily if she had not had her children to consider. Tal-Elmar was a good man; he might accept her children and raise them. Then again, perhaps he could find people that wanted them in the village. The oldest one looked to be of marrying age in just a couple of years. The younger girl could help some family with a passel of young ones to watch.

But he had to get them to his home in Agar. Guryn had attacked the she-elf this morning, and Hazad did not doubt he would do it again. He had not realized how strong a female elf could be. She had flung Guryn off her as if he weighed little more than a child. Hazad shook his head at the memory of the morning. Perhaps he should be glad for the children, for if they were not present the elf would likely escape. He was glad her son was not injured badly. Guryn was bad tempered and violent, and Hazad knew he mistreated his own wife and children. He did not approve, but he would never intervene. Guryn’s family was his problem. It was not for Hazad to interfere.

Hazad looked around the fire at the men. He could probably split the caravan in half. There were at least four men he could trust; or at least trust them once they were away from Guryn. He would take four wagons and leave Guryn with four. He would instruct Guryn to follow the river, and he would take the plains. There was some danger, of course. They were much better equipped to fight as a larger group, but it was a chance worth taking.

Hazad spent the night guarding his elves and his wagon. He would deal with Guryn come morning.

***

Bregolas halted his warriors at the gates that led to his father’s realm. He knew the guards had already sounded the call that they had returned, but he dreaded facing his father; dreaded having to tell him the news that they had not found Tathiel, Tinánia, Eärundra and Legolas. His warriors waited silently behind him, some with heads bowed and eyes downcast, and some stared straight ahead, expressionless. Bregolas took a deep breath and urged Urevio through the gates.

A small crowd had gathered, including King Thranduil and Urithral, on the steps to the great Hall. All faces were eager, expectant and anxious to greet and welcome home the elves who had been missing. Smiles faded and countenances fell as the warriors stopped in front of the King. The absence of the missing children was glaring. Bregolas dismounted, and walked to his father.

“Where are they?” Thranduil asked hoarsely.

“We did not find them, __Ada_ r_,” Bregolas chose the familiar tone. “We met Rawien and his warriors east of Laketown. They had tracked them to Karan and were just days behind them. They should have overtaken them, but did not.”

Looks of disbelief and shock appeared on the faces of the gathered elves. Urithral reached out and grasped Bregolas’ arm, his hand trembling.

“Where is Rawien?” Urithral asked.

“He returned to Karan to search for further clues to what might have happened to them after they sent the messenger. Rawien had reason to believe that harm may have befallen them in Karan; that they did not leave the village as planned,” Bregolas explained. “We hunted Orcs. Tathiel and the children would be such easy prey if they were caught alone by a band of Orcs. We have spent these last weeks combing the hills and plains from the Iron Hills to Erebor. We found that Orcs had returned to the place where you were attacked, and we followed that band west to Erebor. They are all dead, but we found nothing to suggest they had taken the children. No signs, nothing,” Bregolas paused, his voice trembling.

“Rawien sent word that there was a man from near the Sea of Rhûn who left Karan the same day as Tathiel sent the messenger. Because of the floods, there were no other travelers in the town except him and his men. Rawien said others in the town believed he was watching Tathiel – was ‘taken with her’ were the words they used. Rawien chose to follow them on more gut suspicion than on solid clues or facts,” Bregolas finished.

Thranduil’s hands were clenched, and the rage in him growing as Bregolas spoke.

“What kind of man steals people?” he growled, his voice rising. “What kind of man takes an elf and three children, and leaves with them? What kind of man preys on those so small and young, and unable to defend themselves?”

The last words were spoken nearly as a roar, and everyone had stepped back from the king, even his son.

“It shall become law in this realm that any child who has not reached his majority shall not travel beyond the borders of the realm without special dispensation. It shall become law in this realm that none but guests shall enter the safety of this realm without permission. It shall become law in this realm that no man shall pass the borders without an invitation from the King!”

Thranduil slammed his fist into his hand, then turned and strode forcefully back into the Hall.

Bregolas bowed his head, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He patted Urevio on the flanks and allowed one of the guards to lead him to the stables. The gathered elves had started to disperse, some walking away alone; others staying to share their grief with others in small groups. He heard murmurs of shock around him, both over the incident and the King’s reaction. He walked to the entrance of the Great Hall, stopping at the grief-stricken form of his father’s advisor. He gripped Urithral in an embrace and felt him shake with silent sobs. Bregolas felt his own hot tears spill from his eyes.

“You should go to your father,” Urithral said after a moment.

Bregolas nodded and stepped aside, allowing Urithral to pass him and return home to his silent dwelling. He entered his father’s court and found the room empty. Continuing to the family quarters, he checked first his father’s room but found that room strangely silent as well. He had turned to leave when he heard a noise coming from the next chamber. He pressed his ear to the door of the room that had been prepared for Legolas, then quietly entered, and saw his father kneeling at the side of the small bed, his face buried in the blanket. Sobs racked his body. The glass of the window was broken, as was a lamp that sat on the bedside table.

Bregolas stepped carefully through the broken glass, and knelt down next to his father. He saw that Thranduil’s hand was bloody, shards of glass still in the cuts. Bregolas wrapped his arms around his father, and felt Thranduil lean into him as his grief poured through him. He held his father until he was still, the emotion spent and poured out.

“I am sorry __Ada__ ,” Bregolas whispered to him. “Come, let me tend your hand.”

Thranduil rose, and was about to speak when he saw a flash of blue in the doorway. Elumeril flung herself at him, heedless of the broken glass and her bare feet. Thranduil picked her up with his uninjured hand, and Bregolas gently pulled shards of glass from the bottom of her feet.

“Come, before we have more injuries,” Bregolas escorted them from the room, closing the door behind him.

Thranduil carried Elumeril to the family living area, where Bregolas tended their cuts. Celebrinduil and Elenath joined them there, and they sat in the quiet and comforted each other in their grief.

“Where is Lathron?” Thranduil asked after a short while had passed, and he had not joined them.

Screams and cries of terror filled the air at that moment.

***

Lathron swept up the broken glass and closed the shutters to the room. He disposed of the lamp and straightened the covers on the little bed. He sat down upon it and closed his eyes as his mind drifted to the south.

He saw a beautiful baby boy, talking and playing with a carved wooden toy. He was eating, and then nursing when someone grabbed him by the arm and threw him. He saw the child lying on the ground then, his face contorted as he struggled for breath. Lathron gasped as if his breath had been knocked from him, and covered his ears at the screams that he heard, scream after piteous scream. He heard pain and fear and panic in that little voice, and saw those same emotions reflected on the little face. Lathron shook his head, tried to make the vision cease, but it continued. He saw bruises on the little body and heard the angry voices of men yelling in the distance. Then sobs. Lathron cried out for it to stop.

The door to the room flew open, and Bregolas and Thranduil raced inside. Bregolas saw Lathron on the floor, curling into himself, his hands covering his ears as he cried out over and over again for it to stop. He ran to him, dropping onto the floor and wrapping Lathron in his arms.

“Lathron, it is me. Lathron, do you hear me? Lathron!” Bregolas called to him.

Lathron heard his brother’s voice, heard him call and finally felt himself drawn back into awareness. It took him a moment to realize the yells he now heard were his own, and he forced himself to stop. He opened his eyes and removed his hands from his ears, and saw Bregolas looking down at him. Over Bregolas’ shoulder he saw his father and behind him, Celebrinduil.

Bregolas pulled Lathron upright, and let him lean against his chest. Lathron was still breathing hard, his heart still racing. Bregolas steadied him with his arms, and tried to will his calming energy into his brother.

Thranduil sat down on the bed next to them, and waited until both of his sons were calm and aware, and Lathron able to speak. Lathron looked up at his father, and feared rejection and harsh words for allowing himself to be overcome in this way. Instead he saw compassion.

“What did you see, Lathron?” Thranduil asked gently.

Lathron was silent, his hands shaking as the vision was once again clear to him.

“Someone hurt Legolas, _Ada_. Someone threw him – tore him from Tathiel’s breast and threw him into a field,” Lathron spat out the words. “He was hurt, _Ada_. He was screaming in pain and fear. There were bruises……. What kind of monster abuses a baby, _Ada_?

A cry from the doorway reminded them that Elumeril was still present, and Thranduil held his arms out to her again. She slid from Celebrinduil’s arms, and ran to her _Ada_ on bandaged feet; clinging to the strongest anchor she had in this terrible storm of grief.

“ _Ada_ , we have to save Legolas before the bad men hurt him again,” she sobbed against his shoulder.

“We will, _nín sell_ , we will,” he murmured into her hair.

Thranduil carried Elumeril to Elenath’s room, and the girls slept together that night, Elumeril wrapped in the arms of her sister, as they had not done in years. Thranduil sat with them until Elumeril was asleep, then kissed Elenath on the forehead.

“ _Maer dû_ , Elenath,” he whispered. “ _Im meleth le_.”

***

Thranduil joined his sons in his study. Bregolas had opened a bottle of wine and four goblets were already filled. Lathron had been plied with a few sips and some color had returned to his face. He still appeared shaken and Bregolas sat close to him.

“Lathron, _nín ion_ , I am sorry for asking you to repeat again what you saw. Is there any more you can tell us?” Thranduil asked.

“I could hear the men yelling around me, but not their words. I feel like I became Legolas – like I was him screaming and it was me that couldn’t breathe – but I couldn’t sense the things around him – just in him. I am the one who is sorry, _Ada_. I was not paying attention to those kinds of details. All I could see and feel was Legolas,” Lathron replied sadly.

“Did you sense at the end if he was recovered?” Bregolas asked him gently.

“I think so. He was nursing again, and being loved. That is all I could tell.”

“Tathiel will protect him with her life,” Thranduil said absently.

“ _Ada_ , I fear that the men hurt Legolas to get to Tathiel,” Bregolas said pointedly.

Thranduil sighed. “I have tried to consider what motivation the man had for stealing Tathiel and the children. If the man was ‘taken’ with Tathiel, I suspect that she is the goal. The children may be used as bargaining chips to make her do as they wish.”

The four elves considered this, and the implications of that statement. The children would be considered expendable; merely pawns to be disposed of when they ceased to be useful. And Tathiel….it was heinous to even consider what they might do to her. A she-elf forced to bed would likely willingly give up her life. Tathiel would not leave the children unprotected and alone; which might leave her subjected to ongoing torture and degradation.

“ _Ada_ r, I could lead a war party down the Celduin, and meet up with Rawien somewhere near the juncture of the rivers, or further ahead at the Sea. More of us searching, more of us able to fight, _Ada_ ,” Bregolas said. “Orc activity has increased in that area, according to the patrols. There are fears that shadow has returned to Dol Guldur. At least we can eliminate any Orc bands we find in the area and help ease their way home.”

Thranduil was silent for a moment. He struggled with feelings he thought selfish, of not wanting another child of his at risk. He subdued those thoughts quickly and turned logically to the question at hand. The idea had merit.

“We will sleep on the idea this night,” he finally answered. “We will discuss it in court tomorrow, with the captains. Please ensure they are present, Bregolas.”

Bregolas and Celebrinduil departed; Lathron stopped as Thranduil motioned for him to stay. Thranduil observed him steadily. He was still trembling, still pale; though better than he had been.

“I am sorry you suffer so,” Thranduil finally said. “Will you sleep this night? Do you wish to have someone with you?”

Lathron was silent for a moment. He was a young elf by how elves reckoned years, but far too old to be babysat. How did he admit that he did not wish to be alone?

“ _Ada_ , I will ask Bregolas to sleep in my room this night,” he murmured, eyes downcast.

Thranduil embraced his son and escorted him to his room. Lathron prepared for bed and a few minutes later heard the door open. He smiled, thinking Bregolas had come at the request of their father. Instead, there stood his father.

Thranduil tucked into bed a son who had not needed such care in several centuries, and then laid himself down in the adjacent bed. The room was silent, but Thranduil saw the slight shake of Lathron’s shoulders as he lay curled on his side.

He rose and stepped the few feet to Lathron’s bed. He lay down next to his son and pulled him into his arms. Lathron held on tight to his father as he wept, and Thranduil felt hot tears fall upon his fingers and hands. He held Lathron and soothed him, until the tears ceased and he had fallen into deep sleep, before crossing back to the spare bed. He lay awake for some time, his emotions raging between extreme anger at the men who had done this, and fear for the missing. Thoughts of vengeance settled on him, and he found himself wishing to kill those men who had harmed his infant son. It was late in the night before sleep overcame him.

*******

**Author’s note:**   
_ellyth = elf maidens_  
Elenath = stars  
Adar/Ada = Father/Dad  
nín sell = my daughter  
Maer dû = good night  
Im meleth le = I love thee (you)  
nín ion = my son   



	20. Tal-Elmar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

Hazad woke early the next morning and cared for the horses, hitching them to the wagon and preparing for an early start. He heard the elves wake and begin to move inside the wagon, and quickly moved to place food and water inside. He did not wish to chance a repeat of the previous morning.

He moved then to where his brother slept and nudged him with his foot. Guryn woke ornery, as was his wont, and growled at Hazad, swiping at the foot that had annoyed him.

“I am leaving you. I am taking four of the wagons and half the men. You can continue on the river road; I will cut cross country,” Hazad informed him calmly.

“Stupid to split up,” Guryn grunted.

“I prefer to get all my baggage home in one piece,” Hazad replied grimly.

“Elf baggage is more trouble than it is worth,” Guryn snorted. “Do what you will. Better hope we don’t run into thieves on the road. Your loss if we do.”

Hazad did not reply, instead turning on his heel and walking away. He motioned to the men he had chosen to accompany him, and they fell into formation behind his wagon. He climbed into the wagon seat, glancing briefly behind him into the wagon bed, and then set forth. He drove the horses off the main road and followed a southeasterly direction. The road might be a bit harder, but he considered it a fair trade to remove the elf from the temptation of his bad-tempered brother.

***

Legolas pulled himself upright by holding on to the crate lashed to the side of the wagon. He bounced on the balls of his feet, then turned his head to see who might be watching him. None of his _ellyth_ was aware of this new accomplishment. A little furrow creased his brow in dismay at this lack of attention.

“Tafiel watch!” he banged the hand of his uninjured arm against the crate.

Three heads turned to look at him, and he grinned, pouring forth all charm into his most winning smile. He bounced again and stood with his hands free. He turned and saw Tathiel smiling at him, her arms outstretched. He put fourth one foot, and then another and lunged into her arms just as the wagon dipped through a low spot.

“You did it!” Tathiel exclaimed, catching him carefully so as not to bother his shoulder. “Legolas walked!”

“Leges walked!” he clapped his hands and crowed with excitement.

Tinánia and Eärundra hugged him, and took turns standing him in front of one so he could he walk to the other. Squeals of delight poured from Legolas as he was alternately hugged and encouraged as he toddled the few steps from one to the other. Finally he plopped down on his bottom, breathing heavy and smiling from ear to ear. Tathiel held her arms out to him, and he lifted his in answer. Yes, he wanted to be picked up.

She cuddled him in her arms, his head resting on her shoulder as he snuggled and rested from all his exercise. She could feel his warm breath on her neck, and the dampness of his skin from all the exertion was causing the hair at the neck and behind the ears to curl slightly. She gently tugged on his tunic and noted that the bruising of his shoulder was faded and already disappearing. Grateful for this blessing, she kissed him on the head and settled back against the boards of the wagon as he slumbered.

* * *

Nearly a month had passed since they separated from the rest of the caravan, and Tathiel was becoming as frustrated trying to entertain a child just approaching the second anniversary of his conception as the child was himself. His physical skills improved despite the long periods of confinement in the wagon, and he wished more and more to be out running in the cool grass.

“Leges hot! Want out!” Legolas accentuated his frustration by pounding his fist on the wagon lip.

After all, he could see outside. Why couldn’t he go outside?

“Legolas has to stay in,” Tathiel beckoned him to her. “Please come here, Legolas. Come play with your animals.”

Arms crossed on his chest, lower lip thrust out, he stood with legs spread apart for best stability in the rumbling wagon and gave her his most withering look. Tathiel was not impressed, however, and the eyebrow that was raised back at him caused him to relent and he walked to her on sturdy legs. He flung himself into her arms, and Tathiel embraced him, settling him down to play with his animals.

Eärundra stared listlessly out of the wagon, her chin resting in her cupped hands, elbows on the wagon lip, watching the waving grasses behind them as home moved farther and farther away. Tinánia lay on her back, staring at the sky, and humming each tune she knew over and over.

They were hot, tired of sitting in the cramped wagon, and bored.

Hazad had been much more strict with them once they had separated from his brother, as if he sensed they might try to escape once their fear diminished. He allowed them out in the morning and sometimes in the evening, but only when he or one of the men could guard them. Tathiel had asked that they be allowed to walk, but Hazad denied the request. He pushed the horses hard, despite the heat, in his desire to reach home and would not allow their walking to slow him down. On several occasions Hazad had instructed one of the men to backtrack and set fire to the grass. In the distance they would see the billowing smoke, and on one occasion the fire had nearly caught up with them before they finally crossed a small stream that acted as a firebreak. The smoke had nearly choked them, and the horses had been frantic.

Tathiel suspected he was covering his trail and hope rose in her that perhaps they were being followed. They had the same destination as his brother, after all, so he couldn’t be hiding from Guryn. She wondered about the use of fire, for surely the smoke would alert others to their presence. But, with the direction of the wind, it made following them nearly impossible. Those following on horses would find no fodder for their horses to graze upon and no wildlife to shoot for meat.

While hope remained that in time someone might find them, it would clearly not be anytime soon.

***

Rawien sat upon his horse on the river road, looking upon the smoldering ground that held no life. The grass and small trees were blackened as far as his elven eyes could see. This particular fire had jumped the road, and blackened the short expanse of grasses all the way to the edge of the river. Animals too small to swim the river had died on the banks.

“There are more fires to the east,” Galithon observed. “These are purposefully set.”

“More evidence that we are on the right trail,” Rawien replied. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a tiny baby bootie made of animal fur. While possible it belonged to someone else, the style and cut suggested elven workmanship. Whether left on purpose or by accident he did not know, but he kept it for the token it was.

“We know at least one caravan has been through the area, consistent in size to the one we were told Hazad and his people would have,” Galithon mused. “We have seen evidence of single wagons, of horses, and of people and groups of people walking. We saw the large group split and then the fires started. Assuming Tathiel and the children have not escaped and are still with the caravan, which group would you guess they are a part of?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” Rawien responded, staring off at the horizon. “This token was left by the large caravan, which leads me to believe they were part of it until that point at least. So, we can discount all the tracks of single wagons, horses and people until that point. After that we can only guess. I remind myself that last time we guessed wrong.”

“We may guess wrong again, my friend,” Galithon warned him. “We are going on little evidence and a trail more than a fortnight cold.”

Rawien gave him a wry smile, “Thank you for the warning; though I doubt it will provide much comfort if we are.”

“So, _mellon-nín_ , do you plan on asking the lady’s hand when we do find them?” Galithon inquired.

“How do you know the lady would welcome such attention?” Rawien answered the question with his own.

“You are blind?’ Galithon scoffed.

Rawien did not reply, but whispered to his horse who broke into a trot.

“Come, you have a trail to find,” he called over his shoulder.

Galithon threw back his head and laughed, the sound catching the attention of the elves behind them. They looked with amusement upon the two elder warriors.

“Tathiel?” Sadron inquired.

“Of course. Have you ever seen Rawien blush for any other reason?” Laerion laughed.

***

Tathiel woke with the dawn, and quietly stepped from the wagon. The morning was warm as expected of late summer. They had not stopped until after dark the night before, and she was surprised when she looked to the south to see the huge sparkling body of water.

“The Sea of Rhûn,” she said quietly.

“Aye, that it is,” Hazad smiled when Tathiel jumped at the sound of his voice.

He stood next to her and they gazed over the beautiful blue waters that stretched into the horizon. The sun was low in the east yet, just breaking through the treetops of the forest that bordered the sea.

“Agar is just to the east and a little south of the forest,” Hazad pointed into the distance. “We shall be there in another day, possibly two of travel.”

Tathiel remained silent. The beauty of the land was unquestionable; but it was a place she did not wish to be.

“You will meet my son, Tal-Elmar, then,” Hazad continued. “He will make you a fine husband. He is a good man, not like Guryn,” he sought to reassure her.

Tathiel took a deep breath, but did not look at Hazad as she spoke, “I do not wish to marry your son.”

“I know. But you will accept your place once you come to know him,” Hazad answered mildly.

“My people will come for me and the children,” Tathiel ventured cautiously, not wishing to anger Hazad but wishing very much to challenge him.

“Your people have never come this way in the lifetimes of my father or his father. They will not venture this way, nor would they be likely to find the village that is to be your home,” Hazad seemed unconcerned. He pointed at the land around the Sea of Rhûn, “Many villages and many men live around the sea; we are but one small village amidst all that you see.”

There was silence between them that seemed to stretch an eternity.

“I would not think a woman would attempt to leave alone, with three children to care for,” Hazad finally broke the silence. “She would find the way difficult; very difficult if she were alone and nearly impossible with little ones to care for. Of course life would become very harsh and restricting once she was returned. The children would likely have to be removed from her care if she could not be trusted.”

Tathiel spun and her eyes met his, fury flashing in their depths. “Do not threaten my children,” she hissed under her breath.

“Do not do anything to force my hand,” Hazad replied evenly, unmoved by her anger. “Tal-Elmar has a soft heart for children. If you are fortunate he will allow you to keep your son and raise him as his own. The girls we shall have to see about. For now they will stay with you.”

Hazad turned as he spoke these last words, and went to the horses to begin his morning work. Tathiel stayed with her eyes focused on the sea, furious, until she felt a tug on the sleeve of her tunic.

“Eärundra, good morning,” Tathiel forced a smile to her face and bent down to greet the child.

“What did he mean that we will only stay with you for now?” Eärundra asked, her eyes large and a frown on her face. “What is he going to see about?”

“Twas nothing, _tithen min_ ,” Tathiel kissed her, then placing an arm around her shoulders, led Eärundra back to the wagon. “I made him angry and he was just using strong words to make sure I listened to him.”

Eärundra allowed herself to be led, but a new fear had been planted in her heart that she would be taken from Tathiel, and perhaps even separated from her sister. She promised herself to be as well behaved as possible in front of these men that they would have no reason to do this thing.

Tinánia had also woken and busied herself with tending Legolas. Cleaned and changed, she set him in the grass and he raced on little legs to Tathiel and Eärundra, flinging his arms around Tathiel’s knees in greeting.

“GooMorning!” he said, tipping his head back and looking straight up to see Tathiel’s face.

“Good morning to you, Legolas,” she picked him up and hugged him.

He snuggled for a moment, then pushed up from her shoulder and pointed into the distance. “Big water.”

“That is the Sea of Rhûn,” Tathiel turned so they could look together.

“Sea of Roon,” Legolas agreed, nodding his head.

He squirmed out of Tathiel’s arms and ran back to the wagon, tugging on Tinánia’s tunic.

“Nania play!” he demanded.

Hazad had finished hitching the horses to the wagon, and walking around the wagon, he scooped Legolas up in his arms.

“Legolas must play in the wagon now,” he said to the stunned child.

Legolas began to wiggle and thrash as he pushed away from the man holding him, silent at first but he soon found his voice.

“TAAFFIIEEELLL!” he screamed, arms outstretched to Tathiel as she came quickly to him.

Tathiel reached for Legolas, but Hazad turned his back to her, walking with Legolas to the wagon. Legolas reached over Hazad’s shoulder, both arms outstretched to Tathiel as he cried.

“The child needs to get used to new people,” Hazad said, setting Legolas inside the wagon. “Calm down, child, and have your breakfast. We will be home in just another day or two.”

Hazad turned away from the crying child and picked Eärundra up and swung her into the wagon. She stared at him, body stiff, and once in the wagon fled to the back corner, as far from Hazad as she could get.

Tinánia ignored Hazad’s outstretched hand and climbed into the wagon herself. He turned to Tathiel.

“Would you like to ride up front with me after you have fed the child?” he asked, as if his request was an everyday offer.

“No, thank you,” Tathiel walked around him and climbed into the wagon unaided.

Hazad grabbed her arm, making her freeze on the back of the wagon although the grip was not painful.

“The sooner you accept your new life, the sooner the children will as well,…..daughter.”

Tathiel jerked her arm away from him and climbed inside the wagon.

Legolas flung himself into her arms immediately, no longer crying but in desperate need of assurance. In his entire life only three people had ever picked him up and Hazad was not one of them. Tathiel hugged him close, and he untied her tunic himself that he might nurse. She did not stop him, although she normally did not allow him to choose when and where he might nurse. He was comforted, as was she.

She did not like that he had picked up Legolas and then Eärundra, who now clung to her side.

Hazad’s words angered her. She was not his daughter, and she never would be.

***

The sea disappeared from sight as they entered a well used road through the forest. The trees did not speak to them, but whispered only among themselves. The wagons passing through neither angered nor pleased them. Tathiel sang softly to them, joined after a moment by Tinánia and Eärundra. The trees ceased their whispering and listened to the new voices, but did not answer. When the song ended, they resumed their whispering; leaves fluttering in the light breeze as they speculated upon the new voices.

The dappled shade of the forest road stifled the hot afternoon sun, and Legolas napped peacefully. Tathiel, Tinánia and Eärundra watched silent as they begin to pass small villages, seeing log homes and buildings appear in small clearings in the trees; some of the houses had small pens attached to their sides which held chickens and pigs; occasionally a cow or goat. Larger clearings had gardens planted and vegetables sprang from the soil in healthy green stalks.

They saw few people, and when faces did appear they withdrew into the darkness of the wagon. They traveled on like this for the rest of the day, with Hazad allowing them out for only a few moments that evening. They resumed early the next morning, passing out of the heavier growth of the forest into rolling green hills with scattered trees. Near midday they cam upon a small village set on the hillside. Numerous dwelling dotted the landscape, along with farmed lands and small herds of cows. Hazad drove the wagon through the farmland and trees, finally coming to the sole street of the small village that boasted several storefronts and businesses. He stopped there briefly, warning them to stay inside the wagon. He gave instructions to the men driving the other wagons and spoke with a man inside the store, then climbing aboard his wagon continued into the hillside.

He approached a log dwelling not far from the village. The house was small, but had a front porch that could be reached by climbing a few steps. To the left of the house there was a small pen with animals, and down a small hill from the house was a large garden. A sturdy barn sat behind and to the right of the house.

Hazad stopped the wagon and climbing down from the seat turned to the house.

“Tal-Elmar!” he called towards the house.

The front door opened and a young man stepped forth, wiping his hands on a towel. He saw his father and his face lit up with joy as he rushed into his father’s arms.

“Father! You are finally home! What took so long – we expected you late last fall?” questions tumbled from Tal-Elmar as he hugged his father.

“Floods and lame horses, my boy,” Hazad hugged him back. “But I am home now, and I have brought a special gift for you.”

“I am just glad you are home and safe, Father,” Tal-Elmar replied.

“You are just tired of the company of your brothers,” Hazad laughed.

“That too,” Tal-Elmar admitted. “Patel and Nurnan were not the best company through the long winter.”

Tal-Elmar approached the wagon, reaching inside before looking to release the gate at the back. He let it fall open, jumping on it and then turning to duck inside that he might help his father unload.

“Aye!’ he yelled and jumped to the ground, taking several steps back.

Inside the wagon watching him with the same surprise, but also fear, was a woman and three children.

Hazad laughed, and walking to the wagon beckoned to them.

“Tathiel, come out and meet Tal-Elmar,” Hazad called to her, his voice kind but his look indicating he expected to be obeyed.

Tathiel rose slowly, Legolas in her arms, and slowly climbed from the wagon to stand in front of Hazad and Tal-Elmar. The young man appeared dumbfounded and did not speak, but stared at her with open mouth.

“She’s an…an…elf?” he finally stuttered to his father.

“Yes she is,” Hazad confirmed. “And she is yours.”

Tal-Elmar appeared thunderstruck for a moment, then finally said, “What?”

“I brought her back with us to be your wife,” Hazad informed him.

Tal-Elmar was unable to speak, and stared first at Tathiel, then Legolas and finally into the wagon where the two girls were still sitting.

“We will deal with her children later,” Hazad said in answer to the unspoken questions in his son’s eyes.

“Father, I did not know you were looking to bring me a…..wife….” Tal-Elmar was still in shock., “ much less one with…children.”

Hazad cleared his throat, clapping his son on the back.

“We’ll work out the details later. Lets get them moved inside and this wagon unloaded. The horses are looking forward to their stalls in the stable tonight.”

Hazad grasped Tathiel firmly by the arm and escorted her into the house. Leaving her inside the front door, he went back out to retrieve Tinánia and Eärundra and then he and Tal-Elmar unloaded the wagon, piling their belongings and the household goods on the porch. Tal-Elmar took the wagon to the barn and did not return immediately.

Hazad looked at the four elves still standing where he had left them, looking both stunned and scared.

“Tal-Elmar will warm right up to you, don’t you worry about that,” he explained to Tathiel.

Her eyes grew larger as he spoke, and fire flashed in them.

“I am not interested in your son ‘warming up’ to me,” Tathiel answered. “I wish only to be allowed to leave with the children and return to our home. I do not wish to be here and I do not wish to marry your son!”

Her voice had risen some and Hazad reached out quickly, slapping her across the cheek. The blow was not hard, but enough to jerk her head to the side and leave the imprint of his hand. Hazad turned just as quickly, grabbing Tinánia’s hand and twisting her wrist.

“Do no raise your hand to me, child. You will regret it,” he growled at her.

Tinánia twisted under his grip, pain evident in her face until he released her. He turned next to Eärundra, who had moved behind Tathiel and then to Legolas.

“Put the child down,” he commanded.

Tathiel shook her head, “Leave him alone.”

Hazad reached for Legolas, and when he cried out, clinging tightly to Tathiel’s tunic, Hazad swatted him on the behind. Legolas let go, stunned, and then began to cry.

Tathiel went to reach for him, and Hazad grasped her by the hair, pulling her upright until they were face to face.

“You will obey me. You will not talk back,” Hazad instructed her. “I did not hurt the child. I expect them to obey me as they would a parent. You will ensure they do.”

He released her, but did not let her pick up Legolas. The child stood in the middle of the room, tears running down his face, utterly bewildered. He started to run to Tathiel, but Hazad stepped in front of him. He tired to step around the man, and was thwarted again. Fear and panic rose in him and he began to cry loudly, pushing at the legs that prevented him from reaching the only source of comfort he knew.

“Please, stop,” Tathiel sobbed, falling to her knees, completely undone by this man’s treatment of Legolas. “I will do as you ask. Do not torment him so, please. He is just a baby!”

Hazad smiled grimly, finally allowing the sobbing and distraught little boy past him. He had accomplished what he intended.

***

When Tal-Elmar had done all his father asked he returned to the house. He found the kitchen busy, with the elf preparing food and the older girl preparing the table. The younger girl sat on the floor holding the baby. His father was in his favorite chair with his feet up. Tal-Elmar spared the domestic scene barely a glance, instead moving quickly to his father.

“Father, I am confused,” Tal-Elmar began.

“Confused about what,” Hazad raised an eyebrow, looking quizzically at his son.

“Why you would bring an elf and expect us to marry,” Tal-Elmar explained that which he thought was obvious.

“Your grandmother was a special woman, Tal-Elmar. Very beautiful and unique; there was no one else like her. This elf reminds me of her, as you remind me of your grandmother,” he explained. “You are like my mother; you have her kindness and her spirit. I want a woman worthy of that; a woman who was like your grandmother.”

“But father, she is not a woman,” Tal-Elmar pointed out.

Hazad turned and watch Tathiel, pausing to consider his son’s concern. He had thought of this.

“I think all of their parts work like ours,” he said finally. “Legend tells of elves and men marrying, so I am sure it can be done.”

“Father, does she wish to marry me?”

“Hmmphh,” Hazad grunted. “What she wants does not matter.”

Tal-Elmar stepped back from his father, watching the elves for a moment before turning his attention back to Hazad.

“Did you steal her? Or buy her? What do you mean what she wants does not matter?”

“My son, do not question this gift. Just accept it,” Hazad waved off his questions.

“No father. I love you, you know that. But I am troubled by this. I will not marry someone who does not wish to marry me,” Tal-Elmar replied stubbornly.

Hazad sat up straight, his eyes blazing. Of all his many sons, Tal-Elmar had never challenged him. Tal-Elmar did remind him of his mother, and he did wish for this son to be happy and to have a family. A wife to make the home and bed comfortable; to provide him with sons and maybe even a daughter. Someone to help on the farm, and support his son. He decided that berating Tal-Elmar on this point was not going to help the situation.

“Then make her want to marry you,” Hazad said congenially, leaning back into this chair.

Tal-Elmar sat down, tongue tied again for a moment. He mulled this over in his mind, then asked, “What if I don’t wish to marry her?”

“You will,” Hazad assured him. “She is most beautiful, do you not agree?”

Tal-Elmar turned to the elves again, and studied them.

“What is her name?”

“Tathiel.”

Tal-Elmar watched her work in the kitchen, directing the children to help her. Yes, she was beautiful and she seemed to be a good mother.

“What about the children?”

“Up to you,” Hazad shrugged. “She might put up a real fuss if you take the baby away. He is still nursing. You could probably find homes or uses for the girls. Old Ginner has enough young ones and his wife was doing poorly last year when I left. They might like a strong one like the older girl to help out. You can marry that one off in just a few years too.”

“How old do you think Tathiel is, father? She must be much older than I. Maybe she cannot have more children.”

“Elves age differently than we do,” Hazad replied, though he knew little of which he spoke. “I am sure she can bear you a great many children.”

Tal-Elmar smiled. “We shall see. She must agree to marry me though. I will not take her by force. Mother said that grandmother was never happy; that she never loved your father. I do not want that.”

Hazad grunted again. “My mother was happy enough with the children. Tathiel will be as well.”

Tal-Elmar looked again at the elves, and noted them all standing together watching them.

“Come, father, I believe dinner is ready.”

“Yes,” Hazad replied. “A dinner we didn’t have to cook.”

They both laughed, and walking to the kitchen, seated themselves at the table.

“It is the custom of our people that you serve the men first, then you may sit and eat with us,” Hazad instructed her.

Tathiel obeyed silently, serving portions of the meat and vegetables to both men, then fixing plates for the children and finally herself. She sat down as far from the men as she could, but Hazad motioned her farther up the table.

“Your place will be next to Tal-Elmar.”

She moved herself next to Tal-Elmar without looking at him, instead turning her attention to Legolas, feeding him bits of the meat and vegetables. She did not see the reactions on the faces of the two men: Tal-Elmar smiled as she fed the baby, whispering to him as he talked and laughed to her; Hazad scowling as she ignored his son. He held the upper hand, however. He had established today that all he need do was separate her from the infant and she would obey. Hazad resumed eating and demanded no more of her that moment.

***

Evening came on that first day, and Hazad showed Tathiel the other rooms in the house. He had placed her pack in the main bedroom of the house, and she looked at him, fear in her eyes. He reached for Legolas, and she stepped back as Legolas clutched at her.

“The children sleep in the other room,” Hazad said quietly. “You will sleep here with Tal-Elmar.”

“Do not ask this of me,” Tathiel begged. “Do not take the children away from me.”

“You will sleep with Tal-Elmar and I will take the children away. You may nurse the boy, then he goes with the other two. Disobey and they will not stay here at all.”

Hazad turned and with a hand on the shoulder of both Tinánia and Eärundra led them from the room. They both turned back, but Tathiel nodded at them to go. With shaking hands, she opened her tunic, and seating herself on the bed she cuddled Legolas to her breast. He looked at her, reaching up to her face and brushing away a tear.

“Tafiel scared?” he asked.

She hugged him close, kissing his fingers. “Are you hungry, _tithen caun_?”

“Leges hungry,” he agreed, and settled himself to her breast.

She rocked him quietly, her body tense as she waited in fear for Hazad to return.

*******

**Author’s note:**   
_tithen min = little one_  
tithen caun = little prince   



	21. Enemies and Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

Tal-Elmar paused outside the door to the bedroom. He had heard his father demand that the two girls sleep in one of the other rooms, and then tell Tathiel he would require that the baby go with them. He sighed and shook his head. He loved his father and he did not doubt that his father wished only the best for him; but his father had brought trouble to this house. Tal-Elmar might be young, but he was wise in the understanding of people. He would no more tear a nursing child from the arms of its mother than he would force a woman to lie with him.

He pushed open the door, and saw Tathiel jump to her feet and stand, placing the bed between them. He shut the door behind him, and sat down on the chair that sat just inside the door. He said nothing at first, just watched the she-elf, holding the sleeping baby in her arms and watching him warily.

“The baby may stay with you,” he said quietly, watching her relax slightly at this news.

They continued to watch each other, the silence stretching over many minutes.

“Please sit down, if you would be more comfortable.”

Tathiel sat, still rigid, on the edge of the bed.

Tal-Elmar drew in a deep breath, “I will force no female to be my wife, nor to lie with me.”

Tathiel’s eyes opened in surprise at his words. She considered his words for several moments, wondering if he was being honest or if this was a scheme to trick her.

“Your father will be angry.”

“Yes, he will.”

Another long silence drew out between them, Tathiel relaxing again slightly and gently rocking Legolas in her arms.

“What is his name?” Tal-Elmar nodded at the sleeping child.

“Legolas,” Tathiel answered, a small smile on her lips as she gazed down at the sleeping infant.

“How old is he?”

“He was born one year ago,” Tathiel answered, remembering to reckon age as the humans did.

“He walks and speaks very well for one so young,” Tal-Elmar said in surprise.

“His development is as it should be for one of his kind,” Tathiel answered slowly, not wishing to give away too much information.

“My father said that elves age differently than do humans,” Tal-Elmar offered.

“We do,” was all Tathiel replied.

“I have never deceived or lied to my father,” Tal-Elmar said quietly, his head down. “I am afraid that to keep you safe I may need to do so.”

Tathiel gazed at silently, waiting for Tal-Elmar to explain himself.

“I do not know what to do, not yet anyway,” he explained. “I need to learn more of you and your people; know where you come from and how far it is. My father will stay close to the house and watch you closely and I am afraid he will take Legolas from you if he sees you are not doing and acting as he wishes.”

Tathiel again gave no response.

“I will not harm you. I will not lie with you…..in that way,” Tal-Elmar reddened, unable to state his lack of intention more clearly. “But you must act as if we have such a relationship…and have…consummated …….that relationship.”

Tathiel blushed slightly at his words, finally daring to ask, “What do you mean?”

“We must sleep together in this bed, and when you are about the house you must allow me to touch you as a man might touch his wife. I will not be inappropriate,” Tal-Elmar said quickly. “You must act as if you accept the situation.”

“For how long?” Tathiel questioned, still seeing how such actions and words could be used to entrap her.

“Until we figure out what to do,” Tal-Elmar answered honestly. “I know what you think. You are wondering if I am using kind words against my father’s harsh words to make you trust me; and that once you have allowed yourself to trust me I will take advantage of that trust. That is not my intent.”

“Intentions can change,” Tathiel answered softly. “You may not intend to do this, but you may be led to do so by the intentions of your father.”

“I am young, but have never been led easily astray,” Tal-Elmar defended himself. “Yet, all I can offer you is my promise that I will do my best to keep to my original intent.”

Tathiel smiled at the sincerity of this young man. Perhaps she had found an ally.

“Please prepare yourself for bed. I will leave briefly with the excuse of you needing a glass of water. Have you nightclothes?”

“None fit to wear,” Tathiel answered honestly. Her nightgown had been torn into bandages long ago.

Tal-Elmar pulled one of his own nightshirts from a chest, and then one of his mother’s as well.

“You are much taller than my mother, who last wore this. If it does not fit, mine will.”

Tal-Elmar left the room, and Tathiel quickly undressed and put on the nightshirt offered. She looked at the beautiful hand knitted lace of the gown that had been his mothers, and carefully folded it and placed it back in the chest. She was much too tall to wear it, and the expression on the young man’s face made it clear he considered it dear.

Tal-Elmar returned a moment later with a pitcher of water and a cup. Tathiel saw Hazad standing in the hallway, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the wall. Tal-Elmar quickly shut the door.

“Are Tinánia and Eärundra safe?” she asked him.

“They will be fine. My father will not bother them if he believes you are doing as instructed,” Tal-Elmar replied.

He looked at her standing in his nightshirt, which left little to the imagination, and blushed again.

“Would you mind…..facing the wall while I change?” Tal-Elmar asked politely.

Tathiel smiled at him, a genuine smile that reached her eyes. She turned her back to him, and heard the sounds of clothing being removed and then his words indicating he was done. They stood facing each other, on opposite sides of the bed, in identical nightshirts. What Tathiel had expected to be a terrifying situation had turned slightly humorous as she considered this young…and as it turned out…..rather innocent young man before her. She smiled at him again, and he saw the humor as well and returned the smile.

Tathiel placed Legolas between them, and then lay down in the bed. It was soft and the sheets cool, and she realized it was the first bed in which she had slept in over a year. Tal-Elmar extinguished the lamp, and she felt the mattress sag as he crawled in next to her. He was grateful for the presence of the infant as well, and careful not to touch either of them, he fell asleep.

***

“Tafiel wake up!”

Tathiel was awakened before dawn by a rather demanding little voice. Focusing her eyes on the small blond elfling leaning over her, his face nearly touching hers, she kissed him on the nose. He laid himself out atop of her, his head on her chest and pointed at the man in the bed with him.

“Bad man?”

Tathiel grimaced. She would have to make sure they were very careful how they referred to these men in Legolas’ presence. Elflings tended to echo all they heard.

“I do not think so, _tithen caun_ ,” she answered truthfully, however. “His name is Tal-Elmar.”

“Talmar,” Legolas repeated, still watching the man dubiously.

Legolas laid on Tathiel for a few moments, watching the sleeping man. Curious, he slid down her side and crawled to the man. He reached out and ran his finger down the stubble of the man’s face. Tal-Elmar’s eyes opened and he froze. It took him a moment to remember who the child was and why he was in bed with him.

Legolas froze as well, fear in his eyes as the man woke. Tathiel watched cautiously, her hand ghosting over Legolas’ back, ready to snatch him to her in an instant. She would judge Tal-Elmar’s words by his actions.

A smile crept over Tal-Elmar’s face and he blew gently into the baby’s face, Legolas’ hair fluttering in the light breeze. Legolas grinned, putting his fingers over the man’s mouth. Tal-Elmar pretended to gnaw at the little fingers while making a slight growling sound, and Legolas laughed. Tal-Elmar blew into his face again, and the elfling giggled. Tal-Elmar sat up, and Legolas scurried back into the protection of Tathiel’s arms.

“Ah, so he is a brave one, but not quite that brave yet,” Tal-Elmar smiled.

He rose, and pulling his clothing from the chest, quickly dressed while Tathiel averted her eyes.

“We must talk, that I might better understand all that has happened,” Tal-Elmar told her as he pulled on his boots. “My father will be watching you closely today. Be careful to speak only in the common tongue around my father. We may be able to talk in this room, or perhaps you can accompany me to the barn as I do my chores. Legolas will enjoy seeing the animals. My father will expect breakfast shortly, however.”

Tathiel nodded, the knot within her stomach loosening as at least, so far, Tal-Elmar had held to his word. “I will nurse him and dress, and then come prepare the morning meal.”

Legolas was already tugging at her nightshirt, so she settled him to nurse as Tal-Elmar left the room.

***

Tathiel slipped from the room after making the bed, Legolas in her arms. She noted a pitcher of water outside the room next to one she had just left, and quietly opening the door she saw her hopes confirmed. Tinánia and Eärundra sat together on a small bed in too-large boy nightshirts, fear in their eyes, as she opened the door. At the sight of her, they both sighed in relief and rushed to her.

“Tathiel, did he hurt you?” Tinánia whispered, she and Eärundra both throwing their arms around Tathiel at the same time.

“No, he did not,” Tathiel answered, stroking their hair. “I will tell you more later. First, wash up and dress, and then come to the kitchen. I must start breakfast and then we can talk.”

Tathiel took Legolas with her to the kitchen, finding his toys still in their pouch on the floor where he had played the night before. She placed him on the floor near her feet to play. She noted fresh eggs in a bowl on the table and meat set on the stove. Taking all that was laid out before her, she prepared their breakfast.

Tal-Elmar and Hazad appeared just as Tinánia finished setting the table. Tal-Elmar winked at Tathiel as he leaned over her shoulder to see what she had prepared.

“We shall see how that tastes,” he said with a critical eye at the pan. “This is not how we normally prepare our eggs and ham.”

Tathiel bowed her head appropriately, “I hope you will like it. I will learn to cook them as you wish, should you not prefer them done this way.”

At the table, Tinánia stared at Tathiel as if she had grown horns. Hazad smiled, pleased.

Tal-Elmar finished his meal, wishing he could admit how good it tasted. He watched the children eat for a few moments. His father had finished as well.

“After you finish the breakfast dishes, I will show you to the barn,” Tal-Elmar said. “I will expect you two girls to collect eggs each morning before breakfast, bring in water for cooking, and milk the cow. After breakfast you will have other chores to do in the barn.”

He stood, looking down at them. “I will return for you in a few minutes.”

He strode from the room, leaving the house. Hazad watched him go with pride. He turned back to Tathiel and smiled, the look paternal.

“The eggs were fine.”

With that he also stood and left the house.

Tathiel watched the door for a few moments, finally standing and crossing to the window. Both men were already in the barn. She turned to the children and smiled.

“Well, shall we get started?”

Tinánia and Eärundra still appeared confused, but began clearing the table as requested. Tathiel stood behind them as they washed and dried the dishes, and spoke quietly to them of what had happened the night before, and how Tal-Elmar seemed to want to help them.

“For now, just be quiet and do as you are asked,” Tathiel instructed them. “Perhaps you might even enjoy the animals they keep in their barn.”

Tal-Elmar returned to them a few minutes later, and they walked the land with him. He showed them the garden, which they would be expected to tend, and the barn animals that they would be responsible to care for.

There was a pen with sheep, a chicken coop, and in the barn a few cows and horses. Legolas chased the chickens, petted a baby lamb, and stroked the nose of the gentle old cow. He ran through the barn, his toy wolf in his hands, calling ‘baa baa’ like the sheep when Hazad stepped in his way.

Legolas stopped in his tracks, his eyes swiftly rising from the man’s feet to his face, terror in his eyes. Tathiel started for him immediately, but Tal-Elmar gently grasped her arm, stopping her. He strode forward to where the small child and grown man stood staring at each other.

“Father, come see the south field. We cleared it early this spring,” Tal-Elmar clapped his father on the back, leading him away from Legolas.

Legolas turned and ran towards Tathiel, jumping into her outstretched arms. He turned swiftly in her arms and watched Hazad and Tal-Elmar walk away.

“Bad man and Tamar,” Legolas pointed at their retreating figures.

“Hazad and Tal-Elmar,” she gently corrected him.

“Zad and Tamar,” Legolas repeated, clasping ‘woolf’ to his side. His young eyes spoke the truth, however. Zad or Bad man: they were one and the same.

***

The warm summer days passed quickly. Tinánia and Eärundra learned their new chores and the days of work in the sunshine boosted their appetites and gave them a healthy glow. Legolas learned more words and skills, and the barn became his favorite place. He still feared being near Hazad, but seemed to like Tal-Elmar. Tathiel portrayed the domesticated wife, doing all that was asked of her. She slept in the same bed as Tal-Elmar, and in all those weeks he laid not a hand on her.

Hazad grew complacent as the days went on; spending days working in the fields or cutting wood with other men from the village. Tal-Elmar seemed to have his new family in hand, although Hazad still had reservations about the girl children remaining in the household. But, if Tal-Elmar wished to keep them, well they were useful at least.

“Would you care to come into the village with me, to the market?” Tal-Elmar asked her one morning.

Glad for the change of scenery, Tathiel agreed. She dressed the children in clothing she made from homespun muslin that was kept in the house and they walked the several mile journey into the village.

“The man who owns the store is a good man,” Tal-Elmar explained to Tathiel as they walked. “He has contact with people from other villages, and sometimes travels to purchase goods. If your people are looking for you and have reached any nearby villages, he will know about it.”

“Are you going to ask him if he has heard anything?” Tathiel asked, fear rising in her as to what Hazad would do if he heard.

“No,” Tal-Elmar laughed. “We do not need to arouse suspicion. He will note that I have elves with me; if he hears anything he will come to me of his own accord.”

They reached the town, and conversations ceased as people beheld the elves. Most had never seen an elf, only heard tales of them from their parents and grandparents. Tal-Elmar greeted people on the street, keeping his arm through Tathiel’s at all times. She carried Legolas, and Tinánia and Eärundra walked to her side. No one spoke directly to Tathiel, nor did she speak to them.

They entered the store, the storekeeper greeting Tal-Elmar and asking what he needed. Tal-Elmar told him what he required as Tathiel and the children looked around.

“Tal-Elmar, are they elves?” Sarn whispered to him.

“Yes, they are,” Tal-Elmar replied, laughing. “My father brought them back from Karan this summer.”

A small cry from the back of the store caught Sarn’s attention.

“It is Balwyn,” Sarn said to Tal-Elmar as hurried away. “She is great with child and most uncomfortable.”

Balwyn sat upon a stool, leaning back with her hand over her belly. She was swollen with child, her belly so large that she was unable to sit properly and having a difficult time getting off the stool. Sarn picked her up and set her carefully on the floor. She stood straight, her hand rubbing her lower back, tears of pain in her eyes.

Tathiel had also heard the cry and saw the pregnant woman struggling in pain. Handing Legolas to Tinánia, she walked silently to the women.

“May I?” she asked, her hand hovering above the woman’s belly.

Sarn and Balwyn both stared at her, Balwyn finally nodding. Tathiel touched both hands upon the woman’s belly, her hand moving in ever widening circles as she felt the babies moving beneath her fingers.

“Your babies are very active,” she murmured, continuing her exploration.

“Babies?” Sarn asked, frowning.

“Yes,” Tathiel replied, looking into the young mother’s face. “A son here,” she felt over the woman’s lower abdomen, “and his sister here, behind and above him.”

Balwyn clasped her hands over Tathiel’s, feeling a strange warmth emanating from her soothing touch. “You know this?”

Tathiel smiled. “Will you come lie down? I can relieve some of the pain in your back.”

Sarn began to protest, then stopped and helped Balwyn to their bedroom. Tathiel had her lie down on her side, then pulling up the woman’s gown began to massage her lower back and hips, occasionally running her hands along the belly as well.

Balwyn felt the pain leave her as the soothing hands of the elf brought relief. The tight and overworked muscles of her lower back relaxed and the knots in her hips subsided. Tathiel massaged her scalp and face, and then her feet and lower legs. Balwyn drifted into sleep.

“She has been unable to sleep,” Sarn muttered.

“Her time is near,” Tathiel answered. “The babies are grown to full size and will come soon.”

“Twins,” Sarn said again. “Two babies.” He looked at the bassinette in the corner. “We need two of those.”

“They will both fit in one to start with,” Tathiel laughed. She stood, feeling the babies one last time before removing her hands.

“Your son is not in position yet to deliver. Your midwife may need to turn the child, when the time comes.”

Sarn nodded, still focused on the number two and not hearing Tathiel’s words.

Voices from the store drew his attention and he quickly walked back to the unattended store. Tal-Elmar was in discussion with two large men, both unkempt and dirty. He stood between them and the three children. Tathiel hurried to the children.

“Tathiel, these are two of my brothers,” Tal-Elmar glared at them. “Nurnan and Patel.”

Tathiel nodded at the men. They immediately reminded her of Guryn and bile rose in her throat. All three children cowered behind her.

“This must be the pretty elf Guryn was talking about,” Nurnan said, his eyes running up and down Tathiel.

“Guryn is an idiot,” Tal-Elmar spat. “She is mine anyway, so leave her alone.”

Patel stepped around them, walking toward Tathiel, who had backed herself and the children into a wall. He ran a dirty finger up her cheek.

“She-elf might like a real man,” he leered at her.

Tal-Elmar caught his hand, “Go home.”

“I think we’d like to come back home with you. That is, after all, our home too,” Nurnan grinned at the look of fear that crossed Tathiel’s face.

“You have your own place. Go on. Father is waiting for us,” Tal-Elmar pointed to the door.

Nurnan and Patel left, grinning and commenting on the elf as they left the store.

“You are going to have trouble with them,” Sarn said.

“I know,” Tal-Elmar replied. “I must speak to my father.”

Tal-Elmar led Tathiel and the children from the store, much subdued from when they came. Tathiel found herself watching for the two men and Guryn, now that she knew he had returned. The feeling of safety they had found in the last weeks as Hazad had grown to trust them alone at the house fled from her in that instant.

***

Tathiel was preparing dinner two days later when a scream from the barn caught her attention; Eärundra and Tinánia were doing their afternoon chores. She gathered up Legolas in her arms and raced from the house to the barn. Tal-Elmar heard the scream as well and was running in from the field beyond the barn.

Tathiel reached the barn first, just as Eärundra came running out her eyes wild with fear. She grabbed Legolas from Tathiel while screaming, “They have Tinánia!”

Tathiel rushed into the darkness of the barn to see Tinánia struggling against Nurnan, Tal-Elmar’s brother. He was holding her by the arms, half lifted off the ground. Tathiel did not hear what Nurnan was saying to the child; she heard only Tinánia’s panicked cries for help.

Tathiel flung herself at Nurnan, knocking him off-balance. He dropped Tinánia, who jumped to her feet, grabbing Tathiel by the hand and pulling her back, “Patel is here too!”

Patel grabbed Tathiel’s arm, tearing the fabric of her dress. She pushed Tinánia away, “Run for the house, now!”

Tinánia fled as told, running not for the house but to find Tal-Elmar.

Tathiel kicked Patel in the shins, wrenching her arm free as he fell. Nurnan was on his feet again, grabbing Tathiel from behind. She kicked both her feet in front of her, throwing her full weight back against Nurnan and knocking him to the floor. She rolled off him and came quickly to her feet as Patel dove for her. She jumped over him and began running from the barn as Tal-Elmar came inside. He saw Tathiel with torn dress, had already seen Tinánia’s bruised arms and a look of rage came into his eyes as he beheld his brothers. He grabbed a pitchfork and started towards his brothers.

“Get out of here!”

Nurnan and Patel backed up, still smarting at having been bested by a female and now being chased off by their younger brother.

“Do not show your faces on this property again,” Tal-Elmar warned them as they finally fled the barn and headed south to their own farm.

Tathiel ran to the house, where she was met by three tearful children. She dropped to her knees next to Tinánia and quickly began assessing her for injuries. Her upper arms were bruised, the handprints of Nurnan visible on her skin. She had a bruise on her cheek and a cut on her lower leg.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Tathiel managed, tears still pouring from her own eyes.

Tinánia just shook her head, her arms wrapped around her middle. Tathiel gently pulled her arms down, and saw that the front of her tunic was ripped as well.

“Tinánia, what did they want? What did he do to you?” she gently questioned her.

“He said….if he couldn’t have you……he would have….. me……..,” Tinánia whispered through her tears.

Tal-Elmar was standing in the doorway and heard the whispered words of the terrified child. He went in search of his father.

Tathiel led Tinánia to the large bedroom and had her lay on the bed. The child was physically not injured, but emotionally was very distraught. Tinánia knew when Guryn attacked Tathiel that he meant to force her; she fully realized that Nurnan and Patel meant to do the same to her.

Eärundra crawled up on the bed and wrapped her arms around her sister. Despite the warmness of the sun, Tinánia was shaking. Tathiel laid a blanket over her, and then picked up Legolas, placing him on the bed too. Legolas snuggled next to Tinánia, and she hugged him close. Legolas did not know what was wrong, but he did know something was wrong. Tathiel sat on the bed, her head down and eyes closed, attempting to control the fury rising within her.

She heard Tal-Elmar and Hazad come in and listened for their words.

“They are your brothers; you cannot banish them from this home forever,” Hazad said.

“Father, either they stay away from here or we send the elves home. They are not safe here,” Tal-Elmar argued.

“We can find homes for the girls. They do not need to stay here,” Hazad answered sharply.

“They will not be safe anywhere around here, Father!” Tal-Elmar exclaimed. “I am not separating them from their mother.”

“The older one is getting near marriageable age anyway. Old Ginner’s oldest is but fourteen and he just married her off. Let Nurnan marry this one in another year. He’ll leave her alone until then.”

“I wouldn’t give a dog I liked to Nurnan,” Tal-Elmar spat. “I will not give him this child.”

“It is not yours to say!” Hazad’s voice rose. “I gave you the woman, that is all!”

“The children belong to the woman! You cannot take them from her!” Tal-Elmar yelled back.

The argument ended when a horse and wagon drove into the yard in front of the house at a fast pace, and then a man calling for Tal-Elmar. Tal-Elmar responded with words Tathiel could not understand, then a moment later there was a knock at the door. Tal-Elmar stuck his head in the room.

“Tathiel, Sarn is here. Balwyn’s time has come and there are complications. He asks if you will help.”

Tathiel glanced down at the children; Tinánia was shaking less than she had been. She quickly went through her pack, grabbing her medicine case and then beckoning the children to come with her.

“Tinánia, can you do this? Can you come with me?” Tathiel knelt in front of the child.

Tinánia wiped the tears from her eyes, “They need you, Tathiel.”

Tal-Elmar escorted them to the door, Eärundra carrying Legolas, when Hazad’s voice stopped them.

“The children stay here.”

Tathiel’s eyes flashed, “The children come with me. I am not leaving them alone after what happened.”

“I will be here; they will not be alone,” Hazad replied.

“They need to be with their mother right now,” Tal-Elmar interrupted. “Please, father, Balwyn needs Tathiel’s help now.”

“Children will be in the way,” Hazad argued, not backing down.

“I may need Tinánia to assist me and Legolas will need to nurse,” Tathiel snapped back.

It was Sarn who ended the argument.

“I don’t know what happened earlier, but bring the children with or I may lose my wife and children this night!”

With that, Tal-Elmar helped the children into the wagon with Tathiel, and watched Sarn race from the clearing. He ran to the barn, hitched the horse to the wagon and followed them.

***

Balwyn was in the throes of childbirth when Sarn arrived with Tathiel. Her mother was present, along with the midwife and several others. Balwyn was exhausted, the labor having gone on for more than a full day already, and her progress was minimal. The midwife was encouraging her to push, and Balwyn did as she was told with what little energy she had left.

“Please, the children must be kept somewhere safe in your home,” Tathiel whispered to Sarn.

“Nurnan and Patel?” Sarn asked.

Tathiel nodded.

“They will be down that hall, in the main living quarters. No one will know they are here,” Sarn led her to the bedroom, and Tathiel nodded to the children to follow Sarn.

The women in the room did not notice Tathiel right away. She entered quietly, taking in the scene about her. She walked to Balwyn, who opened her eyes and grasped at Tathiel’s hand.

“I am so glad you came,” she whispered breathlessly.

Tathiel whispered to her, soothing her, one hand on Balwyn’s forehead and the other across her belly. Balwyn immediately felt strength enter her body and the pain subsided. She relaxed under Tathiel’s touch. The room quieted as all the women turned to see the strange elf in their midst.

Tathiel ran her hands over the swollen belly, feeling the muscles tense as another contraction gripped Balwyn. She went to the washbasin then and cleansed her hands, then returned to where the midwife sat.

“May I look?” she asked softly.

The midwife looked at Balwyn, who nodded.

Tathiel checked the progress of the labor, ensuring that Balwyn was indeed ready to give birth. She felt again over the abdomen and closing her eyes felt the child within the womb.

“The first baby is not in position to be birthed,” she explained. “The girl child cannot come until he does.”

There was silence in the room except for the labored breathing of Balwyn, as Tathiel poured forth all her strength into the little one in the womb, and then gently manipulated his position. Opening her eyes, she smiled at Balwyn. “Now we are ready. As soon as the next pains start, push.”

Tathiel continued her ministrations, preparing Balwyn for birth, and a few long minutes later, with only a few additional hard pushes, a baby boy was born. Tathiel handed him to the midwife to tend, and by the time that child was on his mother’s breast, the girl child was ready to be delivered.

Tathiel delivered, cleaned and tended that child; placing her in her mother’s arms before tending again to Balwyn. She finished by mixing some herbs into hot water, and Balwyn drank the tea gladly.

“What is that you give her?” the midwife asked, curious and slightly miffed at the interference.

“It will ease some of the soreness away and help with the bleeding,” Tathiel replied. “I will leave you some and instructions for its use.”

Sarn was brought in by his mother-in-law, and handed his son and daughter. The pride of a first time father beamed from him as a beacon, and then he was kissing and holding his young wife, thanking her and asking her forgiveness all at once.

Tathiel left to give them some time alone as a new family, and found Tal-Elmar playing on the floor with Legolas while Tinánia and Eärundra curled together on a cushion. They looked up as she entered, and she told them of the safe delivery of the twins.

Tinánia smiled at the news, but the smile did not spread to her eyes, which remained haunted and fearful. Tathiel sat down next to her and pulled her into her arms, whispering to her and stroking her hair. Tears came again and sobs shook her body.

“Tathiel, I am scared,” Tinánia whispered.

Tal-Elmar listened in growing frustration over his inability to protect these elves his father had dragged into danger. His father did not understand that the lives of these four were in his hands. Tal-Elmar would not let their blood be on his.

Sarn returned after an hour, and Tathiel took Eärundra and Tinánia to see the babies. Balwyn was a little drowsy from the medication Tathiel had given her, but also happier than she thought possible. She let Tinánia and Eärundra hold her daughter, while Tathiel helped her get situated and learn to nurse her son. Legolas bounced happily on the floor, quickly learning he must sing quietly.

“Baby,” he observed, looking over Eärundra’s arm.

He looked at Tathiel who was holding another baby and walked over, tugging on her dress.

“In a moment, Legolas,” Tathiel smiled at him.

“Tafiel!”

“Just a moment _tithen caun_ ,” she shushed him.

“Leges Baby!” he cried, throwing his arms around her knees.

Tathiel finished settling the baby in Balwyn’s arms, and reached down to pick up Legolas. She smiled at him, wiping away his tears.

“Yes, Legolas is Tathiel’s baby,” she cuddled him close, allowing him to nurse as well.

Balwyn’s mother returned a short while later, having gone home to share the news with her husband and Balwyn’s younger siblings. She was very grateful to Tathiel, for her own sister had died in childbirth and she had feared she would lose her daughter as well. Tathiel left Balwyn in her mother’s capable hands, and went in search of Tal-Elmar.

Tal-Elmar and Sarn were in the store, their heads together as they talked. Tal-Elmar didn’t know Tathiel had joined them until the little blonde tornado hit him in the legs yelling, “Tamar!”

“Tathiel, please come and sit. We wish to speak to you,” Sarn gestured for her to sit on the stool near the workbench.

“I have told Sarn about my father stealing you in Karan, near the mouth of the River Carnen. I told him about Guryn, and Nurnan and Patel and how they have tried to harm not only you, but your oldest daughter as well. Sarn knows my father well, and knows that although his intentions towards me were good, what he has done to you is wrong and that he continues to place you in danger. Sarn is willing to help us, Tathiel,” Tal-Elmar explained.

“I will ask discreetly when I go to purchase goods, to see if your people are searching for you. If I can find them, I will bring them to you,” Sarn told her. “Also, I do fear for your daughter Tinánia. If you wish it, she can stay here with us. I am nearly always here and Balwyn can surely use the help with the babies. I promise to protect her. If I must leave, we will make arrangements to see that she is safe.”

Tears welled in Tathiel’s eyes as hope was born anew. She grasped his hand, “You would do this for us?”

“It is so little in comparison to what you have done for my family. I would help you even had we not needed your assistance tonight. But the gift you give me of my children; well, the least I can do is help protect yours,” Sarn responded. “Both girls may come, if you wish.”

Tathiel called the children over, and explained to Tinánia and Eärundra what Sarn and Balwyn had offered them. Both girls were very hesitant at the thought of being separated from Tathiel, yet Tinánia’s fear at returning to Hazad’s was palpable. Tathiel assured them she would be coming to check on Balwyn at least once every day, and that once they had figured out a way to keep Nurnan and Patel away, she would bring them home. She also told them that Sarn would help them get word home, if possible. At this their eyes brightened, and their willingness to stay at Sarn’s house increased.

A bed was made up on the floor of Balwyn’s room, that Tinánia might help her in the night if needed. This freed Balwyn’s mother to return home to her other children, and Sarn willingly slept on the floor of their living quarters. Balwyn helped ensure that Tinánia had plenty to do that night, changing swaddling and helping her move about, that when she finally laid herself down on the bed she drifted fast asleep.

Hazad was less than pleased with the decisions that had been made in his absence, and already he was planning on how he might charge the storekeeper for Tinánia’s help. But, he could hardly argue with the decision, as it had been his idea, after all.

Tathiel slept well that night, with hope.  



	22. Deceit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

Tathiel served breakfast to Tal-Elmar and Hazad, then settling Legolas in her lap began to feed him bites of egg and ham. She listened to the conversation between the two men as they discussed their plans for the harvest but kept her attention focused on Legolas as he talked to her over the conversation.

“We will be starting with Old Ginnel’s fields, then over to Guryn and working southward,” Hazad was saying. “We’ll be one of the last done this year.”

“Well, we were first last year,” Tal-Elmar replied agreeably. “Will you be in the south field today, father?”

“We can head out there as soon as you finish eating,” Hazad answered.

“I’ll drive Tathiel into town first to see Balwyn, then join you,” Tal-Elmar rose to leave as he spoke.

“I think Sarn and Balwyn can get by without Tathiel now,” Hazad answered. “There is plenty to be done around here.”

Tathiel turned in response to that comment, looking first at Hazad before turning quickly to Tal-Elmar. Legolas continued his stream of conversation.

“The sheep said baa baaa and the rooster cock-a-dooooooooodle doo but Leges not cared.”

“I would like to check Balwyn one more time,” Tathiel said to Tal-Elmar.

“Not today,” Hazad answered. “Next time you go you will bring the girls home. They will be needed for the harvest.”

“Cow moooooooooed an’ Leges patted nose.”

Tathiel turned to Tal-Elmar expectantly, “Help how in the harvest?”

“All the children Tinánia’s age help in the fields. Little hard work won’t hurt her,” Hazad grunted as he stood. “Other one can help as we need.”

Legolas had started banging his spoon on the table as he talked.

“Will Guryn, Nurnan or Patel be there?” Tathiel asked.

“Of course. Everyone helps. Are you not listening?” Hazad scowled at her.

Tathiel turned slightly and took the spoon from Legolas’ hands.

“Tinánia is scared of them. She cannot be out working in the field with them,” Tathiel said quietly.

“You forget your place, daughter,” Hazad’s voice was cold. “You do not tell me who will do what and who will not.”

Legolas was now hitting his hands on the table, his voice punctuating every thud with a squeak..

Tathiel stood, facing Hazad, unintentionally forcing him to look up at her. “We will all help, but I will not have Tinánia near them after what they did to her.”

“Father, I am sure Tinánia can help here by the house,” Tal-Elmar attempted to intervene.

Hazad stopped his son with a hand to his chest. “Be off, Tal-Elmar. I will deal with this.”

“No Father,” Tal-Elmar replied.

“No?” Hazad turned his anger to his youngest son.

“No,” Tal-Elmar repeated. “You gave Tathiel to me. She is mine. I will deal with her.”

“Do not push me, my son,” Hazad growled.

The three adults were not paying attention to Legolas, so he turned back to his plate of food and began instead to play with his eggs. He picked up a finger full and threw them at the table. He bounced and wiggled, enjoying himself and unmindful of the conversation around him. He spread the egg with his finger, squishing it into the pattern of the wood and filling the little whorls and cracks.

“I am not pushing you, Father,” Tal-Elmar replied. “You have made this my family. I am responsible for it. I will determine where and how Tathiel and the children will help.”

Hazad slammed his hand down on the table, still facing his son. He felt something squish between his fingers. He raised his hand, turning his palm up and seeing sticky bits of egg stuck to his hand. He glared at Legolas, who had looked up at him when he struck the table, and then at the bits of egg stuck all over the table

“Stop it!” he yelled at the child. He started to reach for Legolas and Tathiel stepped in his way.

“I will clean it up,” she said, touching Hazad on the arm.

Legolas’ eyes widened as he saw Hazad turn and backhand Tathiel across the face, knocking her to the floor. Hazad then turned to the table, and taking it in both hands flipped it over, knocking Legolas to the ground, the table landing on top of him and the bench he had been sitting on.

“Legolas!” Tathiel cried. She rose to her knees, about to pull the table up, when Hazad kicked her, catching her in the abdomen and knocking her to the ground again.

Tal-Elmar dove for his father as he saw his father raise his booted foot; too late to stop the kick but he knocked his father to the ground as well.

“Father! Stop!” Tal-Elmar held him down, straddling him as Hazad railed against him.

“Get off of me!”

“Father, you will not hit her again! What kind of man hits a woman and knocks a child over?” Tal-Elmar had never seen his father behave thus.

“She will obey me!” Hazad shouted.

Tathiel lay curled on the ground, struggling for air as she fought against the pain that surged through her. It was Legolas’ cries that brought her attention back to the present. She struggled to her knees and crawled to the table, setting it upright.

Legolas sat on the floor, tears running down his cheeks as he sobbed. He held his arms out to Tathiel and she gathered him close. He clung to her, choking and gasping as he struggled for air, in fear and pain. Tathiel rocked him on the floor, speaking soothing words in his ear until at last he began to quiet. She looked to where she had last seen Hazad, and saw Tal-Elmar escorting him outside, their voices still raised as Hazad threatened what he would do if she did not learn to obey him without question. It was the words that followed that wrought fear in her heart.

“We are selling those girls! They are not to stay here again. Nurnan can have the older to wife if he wishes and the younger can be sold. I will not tolerate this ……” Hazad’s voice faded from the house.

She pulled back from Legolas, and tipped up his chin with her fingers. He looked as sad as any child could, his tear-stained face and puffy eyes contrasting sharply by the dark bruise on the left side of his head and face. She kissed his forehead, then placed one hand on his brow and concentrated on chasing the fear from his mind. He relaxed under her touch, and she was able to lay him down in her lap. She removed his tunic and felt his torso and back, then ran hands up and down his legs and arms. He winced and withdrew from her touch when she touched his right calf. A bruise was forming there as well, across a deep indentation in the flesh. She felt the leg gently, feeling no fractures, but the bruising and swelling indicated injury to the soft tissues and stress to the bone.

Tathiel raised herself to her knees, a small cry escaping her as the pain in her abdomen flared again. She waited a moment, steadying her own breathing, before standing. She moved stiffly to the basin of water, and wetting a cloth wrapped it around Legolas’ bruised leg.

Legolas had his eyes closed, cuddled in her arms, his hand holding tightly to her hair and tunic, and his thumb in his mouth. He still hiccupped small sobs. She walked slowly to the bedroom; closing and latching the door behind her, knowing that it would not stop someone intent on coming inside.

She lay down on the bed and felt Legolas fumbling with her tunic. She opened it and let him snuggle to her breast. She cuddled him until he slept, the exhaustion of the crying overcoming him.

As she lay there, thoughts came unbidden. She had never injured another living person in her life, and she thought back to the dagger that Rawien had given to her in the cave. She had not thought herself capable of using it. She considered Hazad’s rage, and the fury with which he had dumped the table on top of Legolas, and hit and kicked her. Anger boiled in her and she knew she would kill him if he ever touched one of the children again.

She stroked Legolas’ hair, then his face, feeling the soft skin of his cheek against her breast as he gently suckled on and off in his sleep. She gazed at him, then thought of Tinánia and Eärundra. The picture that came to her mind was of Tinánia being assaulted by the brothers of Tal-Elmar. She saw the fear and terror in her eyes; felt the pain with her. Tathiel shook her head, clearing the terrible image from her mind. She knew then she could take the lives of the children if it meant sparing them such torture.

Tathiel knew she could no longer wait for help to find her. Hazad would return and would hurt them again. He would turn the _ellyth_ over to be tortured and abused.

Tathiel sat up slowly, and walked to the window. She could see the field in the distance, and Hazad and Tal-Elmar at work there. She laid the sleeping exhausted child down on the bed and tied her tunic. She picked up her pack from where it had sat these many weeks in the corner of the room, and she quickly packed clothing for her and Legolas; her medicine chest; swaddling and toys for Legolas, and his wolf pelt. She attached her bedroll to it, and made sure the straps for the carrier were secure. She went next to the kitchen and packed what foodstuffs she could, taking also her daggers and the knife and axe the Watcher had given them. Tal-Elmar had left them out recently, with the other tools.

In the room that Tinánia and Eärundra had recently shared she took their packs and bedrolls, and Tinánia’s bow and quiver. The rest of their clothing they had with them in town. She stuffed the wolf pelts into their packs, as it would be cold soon.

She quickly inventoried all she had packed and looked around the home one last time. She hung Tinánia and Eärundra’s packs from straps off of her own. It was quite heavy, but she knew she could manage it for at least the trip to town. She then picked up Legolas, and peered out the front door. She dared not leave via the door, as it was visible from the field.

She crossed back to the kitchen and silently opened the window. She dropped the pack out first, and then crawled out herself with Legolas, landing lightly on her feet. She shouldered the pack again, and with a light foot blended into the trees behind the house. She left no trail visible to mortals, and began the several mile journey into town.

The store and home of Sarn and Balwyn had a small garden, stable, and outbuildings set behind it in a small yard. Beyond the yard the trees grew thick, and Tathiel rested here. Legolas had awakened in pain and irritable, and she had given him a small dose of medication to numb the pain. The bruises on his leg and face had darkened, and when he had asked to be set down to walk he had fallen, whimpering from the pain in his leg. He contented himself with lying in Tathiel’s arms and holding his beloved woolf.

“Zad bad man,” Legolas said suddenly, his little hand reaching up to touch the bruises on Tathiel’s face.

“Shhh…tithen min,” she quieted him with a whisper. “We are watching for Tinánia and Eärundra and we do not want anyone to know we are here. Like the hiding game we play sometimes, you have to be absolutely quiet so no can hear us.”

Legolas nodded solemnly. He had learned to play the quiet game, and knew how to be silent and still. For short periods of time anyway.

The medication soon made him drowsy, and Tathiel watched as heavy eyelids finally slid shut and his breathing grew deep and even.

They had been waiting only about a half hour when Tinánia appeared in the yard. Tathiel gave a low birdcall, and Tinánia froze. She looked into the wood, but made no move. A second call followed and she answered it in turn. She finished the errand she had come outside to attend and returned into the house. A few minutes later she reappeared with Eärundra, both with small bundles of clothing and a package as well. They walked silently into the woods, leaving no trail and disturbing nothing in their wake. They walked only a few minutes into the woods, out of sight of the houses, before they saw Tathiel sitting with Legolas beneath the tree.

Eärundra dropped to her knees and carefully hugged Tathiel, careful of the bruises on her face. Tinánia stood still for a moment, finally kneeling as well. She ran her hands over Legolas’ hair, and looked him over carefully, noting the bruises. She then turned to Tathiel and gently embraced her as well.

“Did Hazad do this?” she whispered.

Tathiel nodded, stroking Tinánia’s hair softly. She sensed the child’s fear, and sought to dispel it.

“He struck and kicked me, and then dumped the table over on Legolas. Tal-Elmar dragged him outside, and we escaped out the back window,” she whispered back. “We are not injured more seriously.”

Tinánia met her gaze solidly and nodded. She reached for her pack, and quickly packed it and Eärundra’s with their clothing. She opened the package and held it for Tathiel to see. It was filled with a type of waybread used by men; dried meat and fruit, nuts and a handful of coins.

Tathiel touched it gently. “Where did this come from?”

“Sarn gave it to me after we had been here for a few days,” Tinánia explained. “He said that if we ever had to leave in a hurry to take this. If it was gone, he would know we had attempted to escape.”

Tears gathered in Tathiel’s eyes as she considered the kindness of this man. She wiped them away and watched as Tinánia quickly stowed it away in her pack.

“Sarn also said that if we were to attempt to escape, we should head south, and then head west around the sea. He said we would run into fewer people and run less risk of being caught.”

Tinánia helped Eärundra get her pack on and then did the same. She watched, concerned, as Tathiel got stiffly to her feet. Tathiel chose to carry Legolas in her arms again; not wanting the pack to jar him or for him to wake scared, without her to hold on to.

The three walkers slipped away silently into the woods.

***

The town of Dorwinia sat on the northern bay of the Sea of Rhûn, its waters fed by the River Carnen. The main trade of Dorwinia was in wine; a favorite of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm in Mirkwood. The town boasted a central market square, numerous shops and taverns; and was surrounded by vineyards. Elves were an uncommon sight in the city, but some of the very traders that brought the wines to Laketown and directly into the realm of the wood elves recognized the party of warriors that camped on their western border.

Dol Guldur was directly west of Dorwinia, and the evil that had come from the east had shadowed the city for several years. The vineyards were tended well, but borders of protection had been built around the fertile fields. Increasing reports of orc attacks and skirmishes with the Easterlings had caused the city to set up its own defenses and militia to counter these threats.

So it was that Rawien and his warriors were met north of the city by a small band of militiamen. Elves had never been a threat to the men of Rhûn, and the two parties met for friendly parley. After introductions and pleasantries, the leader of the men asked the purpose of the elves visiting Dorwinia.

“We seek a caravan that left Karan this spring,” Rawien answered cautiously. “One adult elf and three children of our people may have been with that party.”

The man did not answer immediately, but whispered to the one next to him and word spread quickly among the militia.

“It seems an extremely odd occurrence,” the man finally replied, “that a small caravan of men that passed through here in the summer made a point of saying that a an elven woman and children had been seen heading south with men of the Haradrim.”

The party of warriors remained motionless and essentially expressionless before the men, yet their emotions ranged from relief that they were indeed on the right trail, to anger and indignation that Tathiel and the children were in the hands of such a cruel race of men.

Rawien was puzzled by the man’s choice of words, though.

“Odd in what way?” he inquired.

“The men made sure that his words were heard by many, as if he expected someone to be asking about them,” the man replied. “Elves traveling in a party of men would indeed be an unusual sight, but hardly worthy of being spread throughout every tavern and shop in the city.”

The militiamen continued murmuring amongst themselves and another stepped forward.

“The men who spread the story were part of a larger caravan that they were rejoining somewhere near the sea. This was overheard in the tavern, but not told to us directly. We did not inquire where they were from or why they had such information.”

“Have the Haradrim been seen in this area?” Galithon spoke up.

The leader nodded. “They were seen south of the sea, north of the Ash Mountains. It is possible they were as far north as Dorwinia, as they also purchase wine from our growers on occasion.”

“We wish to set up camp here, on the outskirts of the city,” Rawien informed the leader. “Might we find you on the morrow if we have questions?”

“Camp as you wish,” the leader replied, “but at your own risk. We have had increasing problems with orcs, although not normally this close to the town. You may find us at the city hall, if needed.”

Rawien thanked the man, and after the men had departed and were out of hearing range, council was taken.

“Your decision to come south, despite the lack of evidence, was sound Captain,” Galithon clapped Rawien on the back. “We now know they were brought this way.”

“They were not brought through Dorwinia, however,” Rawien said grimly. He pulled his map out from a pocket in his tunic. “The caravan split south of where the Celduin joins the Carnen. We followed them as far as this approximate juncture, where we were waylaid by orcs. We do not know where the caravan crossed the Carnen, because of the increased usage of the roads. They may have met the Haradrim at any point here in South Rhûn.”

“Assuming they had Tathiel, Tinánia, Eärundra, and Legolas,” Ethiwen interrupted.

Rawien watched her for a moment, reflecting on her words.

“They may have been taken in the other caravan,” Rawien pondered aloud. “In which case, the plan may have been to give them to the Haradrim but this group may not know if the task was accomplished.”

“Or perhaps the other caravan has them, and never intended to give them to anyone,” Ethiwen replied. “In which case this information about the Haradrim is only a decoy tactic to send us in the wrong direction.”

“That assumes that the men from the caravan knew we were following them.” Galithon pointed out. “I am not sure that they would have taken Tathiel and the children unless they thought our people were alone.”

“Then what would be the incentive for these men to spread the tale around town?” Ethiwen asked.

“Perhaps the men were fighting over them, and that is why they split?” Meren joined the discussion. “They may be trying only to mislead each other.”

“In which case they could still be here in some village near the sea, or they could be farther south with the Haradrim,” Bellion summed up all their thoughts.

“We are in the same situation as we were in Karan,” Sadron added. “We came south on a gut feeling. What is the gut feeling here?”

Everyone was silent.

“I do not know,” Rawien finally sighed. “Let us set up camp and consider it this night. We will decide in the morning the course we will take.”

***

Ethiwen chose a spot on the western edge of the camp to stand watch; Galithon partnered with her, his position on the other side of the camp. They walked the perimeter, eyes and ears ever vigilant, against any signs of orcs. They had been slowed and delayed on numerous occasions by orc attacks as they came south, and Ethiwen wondered if the caravans faced similar harassment.

“What are you thinking?” Galithon whispered softly to her as he came near on his circuit.

“That they are months ahead of us, primarily,” Ethiwen answered, her eyes never leaving the horizon. “I wonder if they faced the attacks of the orcs, as we have. I wonder about the fate of elves in the hands of the Haradrim, who we know have been in league with shadow.”

“What is your mother’s heart telling you?”

Ethiwen paused, considering her answer before speaking.

“I think they are near Rhûn,” she answered. “I do not think they are with the Haradrim.”

Galithon laughed softly. Ethiwen still did not turn to him, and she knew he also faced the darkness beyond them.

“What is your council?” she asked

“I agree with you,” Galithon answered. “While it is plausible that these men of Rhûn met up with the Haradrim, why would they make the fact so well known in the city? It is a case of too much protest.”

“There are many farms and villages near Rhûn. It will take us time to search,” Ethiwen said softly. “Is it too much to hope that someone will have seen them?”

“We always have hope,” Galithon replied. “There is always hope.”

***

Rawien and Galithon returned from the city with supplies and a hand-drawn map showing the locations of the villages and farms of Rhûn. Orc sightings and reports of attacks were less on the eastern shores of the sea, and for this reason the group decided to split up by day, watching individual farms and small villages, before returning together in the evenings. Rawien decided they would not ask questions, as the fear remained that the one that held them might receive word of this and hide or move them. The villagers were more tight-lipped and less apt to provide help to outsiders if it might bring danger or ruin to one of their own, the militia leader had explained to them. Dorwinia was unusual in having had dealings with the elves; other peoples of Rhûn would not likely offer them aid.

The elves began their search of the lands north of the sea in early fall. The process was slow, and it was near the winter solstice when they came to the small village of Solte near the southeastern edge of the forest.

“There is a wagon coming up the main road,” Laerion whispered from his position in the trees. “There is a man and a woman in the cart.”

“Traveling for solstice celebrations, I imagine,” Sadron returned.

The elves remained hidden and silent from their positions in the forest. As was their method, they set half the party to the trees to watch the comings and goings of the occupants of the village. They would call to each other in birdcalls known to all elves of Mirkwood. Tathiel, Tinánia and Eärundra would know the call, and the warriors listened hopefully each time for an answering trill. Come night, they would come close to the houses and barns, inspecting at close range as human vision did not perceive them in the darkness.

A call was heard and Laerion answered, his call indicating nothing was found. The wagon stopped and the man stood in the wagon seat, turning full circle as he looked around.

“What is he looking for?” Laerion whispered.

“I think he heard our call,” Sadron replied.

The two young warriors looked at each other and grinned. Perhaps the man was a bird lover, and thought he heard a favorite song.

Sadron trilled the call to watch, and then sitting back on the branch of the tree, he waited and watched the man.

Sarn looked at Balwyn and she smiled at him. At her feet, tucked into layers of warm blankets and packed with heating irons, their twins lay sleeping.

“It sounds as Tinánia did when she demonstrated for us,” Balwyn answered his unspoken question. “You have answered many a bird call without results, my husband. Go ahead and try. Some day fortune may shine upon us.”

Sarn smiled and putting his fingers to his lips, he did the best imitation of the call Tinánia had taught them some months before.

There was silence and Sarn sat down, his head bowed. Balwyn put her arm around his shoulders, and kissed his cheek. “We will keep trying…”

Her words were silenced by a return call. Sarn raised his head in surprise and again answered the call. Another response, this time closer, caused him to turn to the woods.

“Do you see someone?” Sarn whispered to his wife. “There, by that tree,” he pointed.

The figure stepped forward slightly, and beckoned him forward. Sarn encouraged the horses forward, and they drove further into the woods. Another trilling call stopped him, and he turned the brake on the wagon and sat still, waiting.

Three tall elven warriors appeared in front of him with nary a sound. He had not seen them approach and caught his breath in surprise. He stared at them in surprise, finally recovering enough to speak.

“You have come for them,” he said simply.

Another warrior materialized, this one a female, followed quickly by several more. Balwyn jumped in alarm as she sensed someone near her side, and saw another female elf. Her hand fluttered over her heart, her eyes wide as she stared at this creature.

“You…you look like Tinánia,” she murmured.

A male elf slipped quickly to the side of the female elf, before she could speak.

“You are a friend to them?” the male elf asked cautiously.

“We were a friend to them,” Sarn replied. “Would that you could have come sooner.”

The female elf’s eyes widened in alarm, although none of the others reacted to this statement.

“You are cold,” the male elf said, looking at Balwyn. “You must get your little ones inside. Is there a place we can talk?”

“We are heading home, to Agar,” Sarn replied. “It is several miles. If you come, we will tell you all that we know.”

Sarn told the male elf where their home was located, and that they could approach from the woods, as he suspected that is how the children had left. The elves disappeared into the woods, then, as if they had never been there.

“Balwyn, look,” Sarn pointed at the ground. “They left no footprints.”

Balwyn smiled. “I think that may explain why we did not find any trace of Tinánia and Eärundra.”

Sarn spurred the horses forward, and they arrived at their home several hours later. Balwyn took the babies inside while Sarn unhitched the wagon and stabled the horses. He had rubbed them down and was throwing feed in their stalls when he turned, and before him stood the male elf. He gasped again, and the elf smiled.

“I apologize for startling you,” the elf said simply.

“I am Sarn,” Sarn introduced himself.

“I am Rawien, captain to King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm of elves in Mirkwood.”

Sarn nodded to him, noticing several other elves in the barn as well.

“Please, will you come inside?” Sarn asked. “ My wife, Balwyn, will have part of the tale to tell as well.”

He led the elves to the house and three entered with him. He looked back into the yard, but could not see the rest. He looked at the captain.

“They will stand guard in the forest,” Rawien answered the unanswered question.

“Surely they must be cold,” Sarn protested, opening the door once more.

“The cold does not affect them greatly,” Rawien answered, guiding the man gently back inside.

Sarn led the three inside to the main family area. Balwyn was there, blanket over her shoulder, nursing one of the twins. She immediately removed the infant and started lacing up her gown under the cloth, but the female elf motioned for her to continue.

“The little ones must eat. Do not let us disturb them or you,” she said softly.

Balwyn smiled, the memory of Tathiel nursing her son while teaching her to nurse her infants coming to mind.

“Tathiel delivered them,” she said softly.

“I am Ethiwen. This is Galithon and Rawien. We are from the Woodland Realm in Mirkwood.”

“You are searching for them, aren’t you?” Balwyn asked.

Ethiwen smiled grimly. “For more than a year we have been searching for them.”

Balwyn gasped, her eyes widening. “Where were they before here? Surely Hazad did not have them in the north, did he?”

“Please,” Rawien interrupted gently. “Start at the beginning and tell us all you know.”

So Sarn began the story, of how Tal-Elmar had brought the elves into the store one day that fall. Balwyn interrupted, explaining how Tathiel had helped her with the pain she was having at the end of the pregnancy. Sarn picked up the story with how Tal-Elmar’s brothers had harassed the children and Tal-Elmar had taken them home. He continued, telling how he had gone to find Tathiel when Balwyn began her childbirth and complications set in. He had interrupted an argument in the house, and Tathiel has brought all the children with her when she came to help Balwyn.

“She saved my life and the babies,” Balwyn told them soberly. “Our midwife would not have been able to do what Tathiel did.”

“We learned that Tal-Elmar’s brothers had attacked Tinánia in the barn that afternoon, and Tathiel fought them off. That is what the fight was about that night; Tathiel would not come without the children and Hazad refused to let them go. They feared he would give Tinánia to one of his other sons,” Sarn explained.

Ethiwen started at this, but Galithon laid a gentle restraining hand on her arm.

“We would have helped them regardless,” Balwyn continued, “but especially so after Tathiel helped us. We offered to have Tinánia and Eärundra stay here with us, where Sarn could better protect them.”

“I ask all the travelers who come through if they have seen elves; and when I travel for goods I check with other storekeepers. Unfortunately, we received no news of your arrival.”

“Tal-Elmar brought Tathiel everyday to see the girls and to look in on me,’ Balwyn said. “Then, one day, Tinánia went out back on an errand and that was the last we saw of her or Eärundra.”

“We had made up a packet of traveling food, and some monies and other necessities. We told Tinánia to take it if they ever had to leave in haste; that is how we would know they had attempted an escape,” Sarn said softly.

“Hazad was furious when he found them gone,” Balwyn continued. “He stormed in here in anger, looking for the girls. We told him we did not know where they had gone; they had just disappeared. Tal-Elmar was with him, and Hazad struck him, punched him right in the face.”

“Apparently that morning Hazad had insisted that the girls had to come home and work in the fields for the harvest. Tathiel did not want them anywhere near Hazad’s brother or sons, as they had tried to hurt Tinánia. Tal-Elmar sided with Tathiel, and Hazad blamed him for her escaping,” Sarn shook his head in disbelief. “Tal-Elmar is the finest of all that man’s sons. Hazad’s mother was a captive of war. A beautiful woman as he described her. He decided he would provide a beautiful foreign wife for his favorite son. Hazad claims Tal-Elmar took her to wife and she accepted it.”

Rawien’s eyes narrowed at his, his fist clenching spontaneously.

“Did he?”

Sarn looked up in surprise, “Did he what?”

“Take her to wife?” Rawien’s voice was low.

“He pretended to,” Sarn explained quickly. “Tal-Elmar asked me for help the day our babies were born. He said that he was trying to find a way to help them, and had convinced Tathiel to act, at least, as if she were his wife. Tal-Elmar swore to me that though they shared the same bed, he never touched her.”

Rawien drew in a deep breath, willing himself to calm and relax. He saw that his demeanor had caused both Sarn and his wife to withdraw slightly from him.

“My apologies,” he said quietly.

“Is Tathiel your wife?” Balwyn asked innocently

Galithon chuckled quietly, stopping himself when all eyes were drawn to him.

“No, she is not,” Rawien answered after piercing Galithon with his eyes.

“Tinánia and Eärundra are my children, though,” Ethiwen offered after Rawien gave her permission with a nod.

“They are yours! We thought all the children belonged to Tathiel,” Balwyn was surprised. “Does she have other children than Legolas?”

The elves were silent; Ethiwen and Galithon waiting on Rawien to answer the question.

“You have been most helpful to us, and we thank you for your kindness to Tathiel and the children,” Rawien said. “I can tell you more of who they are, but I would not wish this information to be known, as it could place them in more danger.”

Sarn nodded. “ Hazad, his brother Guryn, and his sons have been searching for Tathiel since they escaped. They are not here.”

“Legolas is not Tathiel’s son. He is the son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm in Mirkwood. His wife was murdered, and Tathiel and the three children kidnapped a year and a half ago. Tathiel is trained as a healer and was apparently able to induce milk that she might feed the child.”

“Who is Tathiel, then?” Balwyn asked, confused.

“Tathiel was an attendant to the Queen.”

“It is a good thing Hazad did not know the children were not hers,” Sarn said. “He would have killed or sold them. He only kept them because it was the only control he had over Tathiel.”

“Tathiel is very clever,” Galithon answered, as if that explained everything.

“We told Tinánia that if they should try to escape, they should head south and then west around the sea. I told her it was the more dangerous route, but they would not encounter as many people and would have more opportunity to hide. They left here two months ago.”

“Hazad, on the other hand, we told that she would likely head north from here,” Balwyn smiled.

“We will continue south this night on the route you have suggested. Words are inadequate to express our gratitude for your help to them,” Rawien said solemnly, bowing slightly to Sarn.

Ethiwen hugged Balwyn, “Thank you for taking care of my girls.”

Sarn watched as the elves slipped out the back door, and into the quiet and darkness of the night. The blended into the shadows, and were gone so quickly he wondered if they had become invisible.

He never saw another elf, but five years later a delivery arrived with a simple note of thank you, sealed with an ornate oak leaf. The beautifully carved bow and quiver of arrows was treasured by his son throughout his life. The small bag of treasure provided for their family into the next generation.  



	23. Dreams and Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

The harsh sounds of the unfamiliar language and the blackness of the moonless night raised the level of fear of the elves as they huddled in the darkness of the cave. Tathiel held one hand over Legolas’ mouth lest he cry out or speak; the motion likely unnecessary as he sensed the fear and tension of the _ellyth_ about him.

The cave was deep, with hidden crannies and nooks off the many passages that led farther into the hills. Tathiel had led the children silently down several passages, finally climbing up on to a ledge that overlooked a good portion of the cave below them. From this vantage point they could not be surprised; however they also had little hope of escape if they were seen. Tathiel had made sure they left no footprints in the dirt of the floor to trace their passage.

She had been aware of the orcs for several days. They traveled only at night, and she had switched their travel schedule to match – always keeping some distance away from the noisy and noisome orcs. On this night, though, they had been nearly overtaken by a second band of orcs that had appeared from the north. Unable to retreat due to the band she knew was south of them, Tathiel had chanced the western hills and its many caves in hopes of finding one uninhabited by orcs or other servants of shadow.

The quarreling orcs had also entered the hills; whether they had sensed the presence of the elves or this was their intended path Tathiel did not know. She could hear them outside the cave, and the clefts in the rock face that opened to slits into the night only amplified the sound.

Eärundra was pressed close to Tathiel’s left side; Legolas was in her arms, and Tinánia at her right side. Tinánia was tense; Eärundra was terrified. Eärundra’s grip on Tathiel’s arm was bruising in its intensity, and as the volume of the orcs calling and quarreling with each other increased, so did Eärundra’s grip.

Tathiel had her dagger laid against her right knee; her fingers lightly touching it, ensuring its presence and keeping it within reach. As the voices grew louder, she shifted Legolas slightly and pulled the long knife from its sheath at her side. To her right, she saw Tinánia carefully withdraw an arrow and loosely notch it in her bow.

Two orcs entered the cave, hands gesturing and their foul language rising and falling in rhythm as they argued. Tathiel grimaced; she thought it was an argument but the language was so harsh that she wondered if the quarrelsome sound was normal for orcs communicating. The two seemed to be inspecting the cave; finally one called sharply and orcs streamed in, one after the other. The flung their packs on to the cave floor quickly covering the main area, and other orcs began exploring the passages of the cave. Soon the noise of orcs was all around them, as well as under them as several orcs took up the small space below them for their own.

Tathiel had ceased counting after she reached one hundred; yet still they came. The noise level was unbearable to the sensitive hearing of the elves, and Tathiel quietly pulled a blanket over Eärundra’s head. Eärundra curled herself up under the blanket, its meager protection helping her to control her shaking body.

Tathiel kept her hand loosely over Legolas’ mouth, and covered his head with a blanket as well. Tinánia kept watch with her, as they listened to the orcs argue.

The sun rose, its bright rays shining in narrow shafts through the slits in the ceiling of the cave. Orcs lying in those shafts of light cursed and moved themselves back into darkness. The elves could not understand the words, knowing only that anger was at the core of a disagreement between two orcs who broke into a fight over the space one had claimed on the floor. The first orc was in the light, and kicked the orc next to him to encourage him to move. That orc grabbed the leg of the first, flipping him on to his back, and a fight ensued.

Many orcs were on their feet in a circle around the contestants, each cheering and goading on their favorite. Weapons were drawn, and Tathiel could smell the blood as knives slashed through skin. Shrieks filled the air, causing Legolas to jump and a small noise escaped him. Tathiel clamped her hand tightly over his mouth, and he began to struggle and cry. She held her hand tight, letting not a sound escape him, and untangling her other arm from Eärundra’s grip, she placed that hand on his forehead. She concentrated as best she could on calming him, finally succeeding in pushing him into sleep, while fervently hoping she had not harmed him by invading his mind in this way. Legolas relaxed in her arms, and she gave a small sigh of relief.

Eärundra still trembled beside her, her hands now gripping Tathiel’s tunic. Tathiel stroked her hair, then settling her hand on the child’s forehead she gentled the paths of her fear much as she had soothed the pain from her the winter before. In spite of the shrieks and fighting below them, Eärundra too quieted under Tathiel’s touch.

Tathiel and Tinánia watched in horror as the orcs battled to the death, the first falling beneath a blade that nearly beheaded him, and the second, in his moment of rejoicing, was cut down by one who was apparently a leader of the group. The crowd quieted and then dispersed when a tirade of harsh words and a few well aimed blows from a club reminded them who their leader was.

The two dead orcs were kicked to the side, and then by the instruction of the leader, a fire was lit and the bodies dismembered and cooked. The stench was unbearable, as the flesh was seared and then burnt; the meat shared by the leaders and many of those who sat near. The rest ate from their packs some sort of ration, all the while grumbling and pointing at what they might have had.

Tathiel pushed Tinánia’s head down to her knees and rubbed her back as the child nearly wretched from the sight and smell. Eärundra and Legolas thankfully stayed asleep and silent throughout the terrible ordeal.

The orcs finally quieted and most seemed to sleep as the day wore on. On the ledge, the children slept as well; Tinánia finally joining her sister and Legolas in sleep despite her fear. Tathiel kept watch, noting the breathing of the three young ones, listening for any change to indicate awakening that she might quiet them before any sound escaped them.

At her side she kept the dagger, fingering it occasionally, and she remembered the words Rawien had spoken to her many months ago. She resolved to slit all their throats before an orc laid a hand on them, and she sat watch for hours with those dark thoughts and fears ever encroaching upon her mind.

***

Lathron stood upon the balcony of his room, watching the clouds roll swiftly across the dark sky. The air was cold, and yet he stood in just a light dressing gown, for the cold was reality and helped him clear his mind and differentiate his person from his dreams and visions.

He had been asleep when the sounds of a fight invade his mind, and he felt fear and confusion. The fear and confusion heightened, and were then stifled as he felt his mind and soul invaded forcefully by a calming presence. He separated then from the young spirit he had joined to, and saw the elfling he knew to be his brother induced into deep dreamless sleep. The turmoil resumed then, and he heard the loud voices and felt evil and unrest surrounding and encompassing him.

Unlike the many visions he had experienced before, this time he did not leave or allow the dream to overwhelm him. He turned back to the child, and wrapped his own presence around the tiny body. He whispered soothing words and sang to the child, feeling the child’s spirit relax and soar with him. As their minds touched, Lathron allowed the seeking child to touch him as a blind man might feel another’s face to memorize his look. He skimmed Legolas’ childish memories, sensing what the child loved, what he feared, what made him happy and that which caused him sadness. Time seemed to stand still, and Lathron was unaware of its passage until the child finally drifted from him into natural sleep.

Lathron withdrew from his brother, and waking, sat up in his bed. His heart began to race and his breathing increased as he pondered that which had just happened. He brought his hand to his lips, and then ran then down his arms, the taste and warmth of his skin confirming he was indeed awake. He rose and went out into the night, watching eastward, knowing that somewhere out there Legolas slept. Clearly the missing elves were in danger. Despite this, Lathron was momentarily consumed with that which he had just experienced. He sensed that he had been helpful to his brother – that his presence had eased him into protective sleep. He wondered if he could initiate this contact; he wondered if Legolas would remember the contact.

Unable to sleep, Lathron left his room and moved silently down the passage to the small room next to the chamber of his father; the space that would be Legolas’ when he was returned to them. He pushed the door open and entered. He stood in the dark quiet room and closed his eyes. He brought the image of the elfling he had just seen back to his mind, and tried to imagine the child in this room.

A vision appeared of a smiling, laughing young elf sitting on the bed, picture book in hand, grinning at him as he eagerly recited the story he was reading. The little elf grew, proudly standing before him, showing him his first bow and explaining how he strung it himself and fletched his own arrows. He saw next a little prince, circlet of leaves perched on his head as he stood with his father in court for the first time; eyes solemn as he heard the petitioner and listened to his father’s reply. He saw that little prince sitting with book in hand, enraptured as he learned the tales of old, turning to his _Ada_ to point out a passage and nodding as he listened to his father explain its meaning.

The little prince was now at play, chasing after and being chased by other elflings of his stature. Climbing trees, singing and dancing under the stars, teasing his sister as she stood with the shy young elf who bowed before her and asked her to dance; his body strong and supple as a young willow and growing ever to maturity.

The prince was a young warrior now, standing with the initiates of the Woodland Realm, proclaiming his vow to protect and defend his King and his people. The eager young face scanning the crowd to rest finally upon his family, his eyes reflecting the pride of those who loved him.

Lathron saw a warrior returning from his first campaigns; occasionally bruised and bloody, but always glad to return to the home he loved. He saw the young warrior standing proud with joy and humility as his captain bequeathed to him his first patrol to lead; he saw the young warrior shouldering the responsibility of commanding his own mission. He saw grief as that young commander lost his first warriors in battle, as he knelt before spouses and parents and shared their grief.

The images changed to a fully grown elf, standing in the midst of a group of mortals, offering them the protection his bow and his senses could offer. He saw runs of endurance, battles of epic proportion and finally his brother’s eyes drawn to the sky as a gull flew overhead. Lathron winced as he felt the call of the sea distract the warrior. He saw next a white city, and his brother standing before a man of Kingly stature, clasping the hand of dwarf in friendship and love. He saw his brother standing with pride before a beautiful land populated with the flets of wood elves; humans, dwarves and elves mixing in merriment in an open meadow beneath. He saw peace and contentment in the eyes of the young elf he called brother, and then the vision faded to a tiny elfling curled in the embrace of loving arms in the midst of darkness and the stink of orcs.

Lathron opened his eyes as he felt a gentle touch on his arm. His eyes focused on the form of his father, who watched him with concern in his eyes.

“ _Nin ion_ , are you unable to sleep?” Thranduil asked him quietly.

“ _Ada_ , please, come sit that I might tell you all I have seen,” Lathron answered with a smile. “They are in great danger this night, yet I have renewed hope for what I have seen of Legolas’ life this night is that he has some part to play in a future event of grave importance.”

***

The orcs slept most of the day, the large number of them combined with the echo of the cave causing a continuous low roar. Tathiel was grateful for the constant rumble of noise, for it overpowered any sounds the children might make in their sleep.

It was late afternoon when Legolas woke. He made not a sound, but reached up instead to touch Tathiel’s face. She smiled down at him, touching her finger to her lips then to his. He nodded, somehow grasping the importance of silence. Tathiel unlaced her tunic, and he gladly suckled at her breast, the rumble in his tummy making him grin at her.

Eärundra woke next, peeking her head out from the blanket and leaning out slightly from the wall to see the orcs still spread out on the ground below them. She looked at Tathiel and rolled her eyes, then pulled the blanket back over her head. Tathiel had quietly removed items from their packs during times of greater noise from the orcs, and now slipped food and water to Eärundra. The child’s head popped out momentarily and she managed a smile before retreating to the relative safety of her blanket.

Tinánia woke last, her nose twitching in disgust as she perceived the presence of the orcs without needing to see them. She also took a little food and water, and then leaned back against the wall, her body posture resigned as she realized they had yet several hours of the company of the orcs to endure.

Tathiel would have laughed aloud if the sound would not have endangered them. While all of them had reason to fear the orcs, the many hours spent in their presence had led to a certain amusement for their predicament. The orcs were foul, disagreeable, quarrelsome, and noisome. They were stuck in a cave with more than a hundred of the disgusting beings, and the orcs were unaware of their presence. Tathiel shook her head and smiled at Legolas who returned the grin. There was truly no humor to their situation and should their presence be discovered all four would quickly be inhabiting the Halls of Mandos; yet Tathiel could not help but smile.

The orcs began to rouse as dusk descended, and the sounds and smells as they argued, ate of their rations and relieved themselves drifted up to the elves. Eärundra tried covering her ears and pinching her nose, causing Legolas to point and Tathiel covered his mouth just in time to prevent the laugh that followed. Legolas did not smell so good himself at this point, and all of the elves hoped the orcs would leave that they might take care of their own needs. Darkness finally settled over the land, and the orcs departed leaving behind the remnants of their stay.

Tathiel held her fingers to her lips, and motioned for each of the children to remain quiet. She crept to the edge of the ledge and looked down. She saw no orcs in the main cavern, just the remains of the two that had been killed. She moved over to the spot where they had climbed up, and noted that the two that had camped below them had also departed. The silence in the cavern was frightening after the volume they had endured for the last day, and Tathiel found herself hesitant to speak. She finally set Legolas down next to Tinánia and climbed down from their perch. She moved silently through the cave, checking the near passages and main cavern, then walked to the opening and stepped into the cold night air. To the north she could still faintly hear the sounds of the orcs as they continued their journey. To the south she heard nothing but the normal sounds of the night – the calls of an owl, the crackles of shifting ice, and the wind as it whistled through bare branches. Content they were finally alone, Tathiel re-entered the cave. She climbed high enough that she could see on to the ledge, and beheld three shining sets of eyes.

“We are alone,” Tathiel said, relieved.

She spoke in her normal voice and was amazed at how the sound carried.

“Lets whisper instead,” she said softly to the smiling faces above her.

Tinánia handed Legolas to her, then Eärundra climbed down. Tinánia passed the packs to Tathiel and then came down herself. They immediately took care of their own needs and then returned to the main cavern.

“Leges wet,” the reproof in his voice was unmistakable.

“I know you are _tithen min_ , and I am sorry for that,” Tathiel replied. “You have not wet yourself in some time, but I think it was better to do so than to have the orcs find us.”

Legolas allowed himself to be washed, dried, and changed without further comment on that topic. Tinánia and Eärundra were looking around the cavern, both staring pensively at the orc remains in the fire pit. Tinánia finally pulled Eärundra away from the grotesque sight, and they returned to Tathiel and Legolas.

Tathiel studied the three faces before her. “I do not think we can continue tonight,” she said finally. “I do not want to catch up to that band of orcs. I think we will give them a days head start and continue tomorrow.”

There was no sadness at this announcement, for the elflings had not slept well during the day and Tathiel had not slept at all.

“I do not think we want to stay here this night, though,” Tathiel’s nose twitched at the lingering odor. “If there are more orcs, this spot would be inviting to them. Let us see if we can find something less hospitable to a large party of orcs.”

Tathiel wrapped the wolf-pelt cloak she had made for Legolas about him, and allowed him to walk as they left the cave. They all perked up in the crisp night air and climbed into the hills, searching for a spot to spend the night. The snow was too deep and the path too rough for Legolas to walk long, and Tathiel carried him in her arms. She considered placing him in the carrier, but had decided that while that was a good mode of travel for a young one, it was dangerous if an attack occurred and the young one could not be easily removed.

Tinánia and Eärundra were both becoming quite proficient at moving silent and invisible through the trees, and Tathiel listened to Tinánia whisper to her sister that this is why an orc would not be able to follow them. She then went on to explain that an orc was so noisy that anyone would know it was coming.

“I do not think I am very brave,” Eärundra said quietly, her hand on her sister’s arm.

“You have been very brave,” Tinánia replied, stopping to face her sister. “Why do you think otherwise?”

“I was so scared of the orcs in that cave that I nearly wet myself,” Eärundra confessed. “I was scared of Hazad and Nurnan and Patel and Guryn and Balak and Ban and the wolves and the rockslide………”

“I was scared of all those things too!” Tinánia interrupted her.

Eärundra stared at her sister, speechless.

“I did not think you were ever scared,” Eärundra finally whispered.

“Everyone is scared at some time or another,” Tinánia explained. She turned to watch Tathiel as she and Legolas came out of the small cave they had been exploring. “I think even Tathiel has been scared at times.”

“Come!” Tathiel called to them softly, motioning them to the cave.

The cave was small and snug, with two entrances both fairly well concealed by brush. Tathiel set Legolas down to play while she started a small fire. Tinánia and Eärundra set their packs down, and began rummaging in them for what food items they had left. Tathiel boiled some water, soaking strips of the dried meat in hopes of softening it some for Legolas to eat.

“Tathiel, are you ever scared?” Eärundra ventured.

“Yes,” Tathiel answered, stopping her task momentarily to give Eärundra her full attention. “I have been scared many times since we left the trees of the Greenwood. Why do you ask, _pen-neth_?”

“I do not think I am very brave,” Eärundra finally replied.

Tathiel smiled at her. “Bravery comes in many forms, Eärundra. When we think of one of our warriors as brave, we often mean that he fought valiantly or risked himself to battle a foe stronger than himself. But for most of us, being brave means that we endure through hard or difficult times; we continue when we might wish to give up and we face all the adversity that challenges and pursues us. You, nín sell, have endured pain, cold, hunger, fatigue, fear, and the presence of those who wished to harm you. I cannot think how you might have been braver than what you have been.”

Eärundra smiled as a tear ran down her cheek. Tathiel crossed to her, and drew the child into her arms. Eärundra accepted the embrace gratefully.

“I do not know if I could battle a foe stronger than myself without fear, though,” she whispered in Tathiel’s ear. “Nor do I think I would win.”

“It is neither the winning or the lack of fear that makes the act brave and courageous,” Tathiel whispered back, hugging Eärundra close again. “You are brave when you endure or rise above your fear.”

Much contented, Eärundra let Tathiel release her and return to the cooking. Tinánia wrapped her arm about Eärundra’s shoulder and hugged her, the look in her eye confirming for Eärundra all that Tathiel had just said.

Legolas had been contentedly playing with his animals, but the sight of his _ellyth_ all hugging each other reminded him of his need for such attention, and he rose on sturdy legs, ran around the fire and dove on top of Tinánia and Eärundra. They laughed and hugged him, and he sat on top of them both, very pleased with himself.

“Nania and Rundra sisters,” Legolas proclaimed.

“Very good, Legolas!” Eärundra encouraged him. She had been working on helping him understand family relationships as best she could, considering there were no _Ada_ s or Nanas among them to help demonstrate the most basic of families.

“Leges has brother,” Legolas informed them next.

“Legolas has an _Ada_ and three brothers and two sisters,” Tinánia continued.

“Lafron Leges’ brother.”

Tathiel stopped stirring the meat and looked at the toddler curiously. She glanced at Tinánia and Eärundra who looked equally surprised.

“When did you teach him that?” Tathiel asked.

“I did not teach him that,” Eärundra answered.

“Nor did I,” Tinánia added. “We’ve been teaching him Elenath and Elumeril are his sisters, since he seems to understand sisters better than brothers.”

“Legolas, how do you know that Lathron is your brother?” Tathiel asked him.

“Lafron told me,” Legolas explained, leaning back against Eärundra’s legs.

“Come here, _nin caun_ ,” Tathiel held out her arms to him.

Legolas dropped his toys and raced across the ground to fling himself in Tathiel’s arms.

“I think Legolas likes hugs,” Tathiel squeezed him tight against her.

“Leges like hugs,” he squeezed back.

“Legolas, when did Lathron tell you he was your brother?” Tathiel asked him.

“Sleeping,” Legolas replied, squeezing Tathiel again as he liked that game.

“What else did he tell you?”

“ _Im meleth le_!” Legolas grinned at Tathiel.

“I love you too, _tithen caun_. Do you know the names of your other brothers?” Tathiel continued.

“Breges and Duil,” Legolas answered, “an Agos gone away.”

Tinánia and Eärundra were staring at Legolas as if he had grown wings. It had taken them days of practice for him to remember Elumeril and Elenath!

“Yes, Alagos has gone away,” Tathiel whispered, hugging him close, his head under her chin, as she rubbed his back.

“Did Bregolas or Celebrinduil say anything to you?” Tathiel asked.

“No,” Legolas answered. “Lafron.”

He reached for some of the softened meat and began to chew it. The meat was too tough for his little teeth, and he finally spit it into Tathiel’s hand when she held it under his mouth. He reached for the waybread next, and one nibble was enough to know he did not wish to eat that.

“Fruit!” he looked at Tathiel with pleading eyes.

Tathiel unwrapped the pouch of fruit and allowed him a few small pieces. He devoured those quickly and then looked at her again.

“Leges hungry,” he said softly.

Tathiel felt her eyes water at those words that she had heard all too often over the last weeks. She was thankful she had not weaned him. What they ate on the trail was sufficient for herself, Tinánia and Eärundra, but not this little one. Her milk would sustain him.

“I am sorry, _nin tithen caun_ ,” she whispered to him. She untied her tunic and laid him in her lap to nurse. He accepted willingly, his tummy growling again. Tinánia and Eärundra moved closer, eating the dry meat and waybread without complaining.

“How did he know the names of his brothers?” Tinánia asked. “None of us told him.”

“I do not know,” Tathiel answered slowly, stroking Legolas’ hair. “He said he was sleeping. Perhaps a dream? Lathron used to have visions and dreams of things that were going to happen or had happened; things he couldn’t have known about.”

“Do you mean that Lathron talked to Legolas in a dream?” Eärundra asked, confused.

“I do not know if that is what happened. I do not know any more than you, and we know only what Legolas has told us,” Tathiel replied.

Tinánia spread the bedrolls out near the fire, and offering to take the first watch, she settled herself against a rock near the cave entrance while Tathiel, Legolas and Eärundra laid down to sleep.

“Tathiel?” Eärundra whispered.

“Yes,” Tathiel murmured sleepily.

“I want to take a watch tonight.”

“I will wake you for the last shift before dawn,” Tathiel replied softly, knowing she would not sleep herself after finishing her watch.

“Thank you,” Eärundra snuggled into her blankets, a smile on her face.

***

The sun rose late, casting its bright rays on frozen ground as it began its ascent across the sky. Eärundra heard the noise first, and quickly shook Tathiel and Tinánia awake. The noise of bands of orcs had become an easily recognizable sound to all of them, and Eärundra heard their characteristic grunts and curses while they were still far off. The elves moved swiftly, packing their packs and rolling up bedrolls.

This band of orcs was smaller than the one they encountered the day before, and had discovered the large cavern where the previous orc band had spent their day. Leaving the cave, the four elves stood silent against the rock face of the cliff until the noise faded.

“I think they have gone inside,” Tathiel exhaled, relieved. “The sun is nearly up; they will be unable to follow us in daylight.”

“I did not think we would come across more orcs so soon after the last band,” Tinánia answered.

“Nor did I,” Tathiel replied. She looked at Eärundra, who was peering from the bushes towards the other cave, watching for orcs. She had warned them in time, and the boost to her confidence was noticeable.

“Let us go,” Tathiel said, reaching down to pick up Legolas who was being very quiet and very good.

The orc jumped from a high rock, knife drawn, knocking Tathiel off balance as she reached for Legolas. He landed on top of her, throwing her on her back, knife at her throat. Saliva dripped from his mouth, splattering on Tathiel’s face as his yellow eyes gleamed at her.

Tinánia had grabbed Legolas and ran away from the orc into the hills. She held him tight, afraid, wanting desperately to help Tathiel and yet unable to leave Legolas. She ran a short distance, then set him down at her feet. She freed her bow, quickly notching an arrow, and began to creep back to where the orc had Tathiel pinned.

Tathiel grasped the orc’s forearm, barely keeping the knife from her throat. Fear made her strong, and she began slowly pushing the orc’s arm up and away from her. The orc had her other arm locked in his grasp, their legs entwined as each struggled for supremacy over the other. Tathiel’s legs were longer, and she was attempting to raise her knees between herself and the orc when she heard the unmistakable sound of blade meeting flesh, saw the orcs eye widen and then his grasp on her loosened and she pushed him off her.

Standing near her feet was Eärundra, her arm still raised, and the knife the watcher had given them embedded in the neck of the orc at the base of his skull. Eärundra stared at the orc in shock, finally raising her eyes to meet Tathiel’s. Fear and panic broke the hold shock had on her, and she flung herself at Tathiel, nearly knocking her back to the ground.

Tathiel struggled to her feet, hugging Eärundra.

“Come, get your pack on, quickly,” Tathiel lifted it to her back and helped her push her arms through the straps. She turned back to the orc, pulling the knife from the it’s back, wiping the blood in the snow and then replacing it in its sheath on her pack. She pulled her pack on, then grabbing Tinánia’s pack in one hand and Eärundra’s hand in the other pulled the child in the direction she knew Tinánia had gone.

Tinánia had begun to creep back towards Tathiel, Legolas holding on to her tunic behind her as she instructed him, when she saw the second orc crawling across the rock above her. He was looking towards where the other orc had attacked Tathiel. Tinánia wasted no time, turning her bow upon the orc she released the arrow, quickly grabbing another from her quiver. She hit the orc in the back, and saw him stagger. She released the second arrow and struck him again in the shoulder. The orc fell from the rock, tumbling down the icy wall.

He landed at Tathiel and Eärundra’s feet. Tathiel drew her knife, raised the orc’s head by the hair and quickly slit its throat. It gasped once as it took its last breath, the blood gurgling from its open throat for a moment before it died. Tathiel quickly yanked the arrows from its back, and grabbing the pack, she and Eärundra ran to catch up to Tinánia.

Tathiel and Eärundra found Tinánia who, unable to fire her bow and carry Legolas, had dared not move any further. Tinánia grabbed her pack without a word, swinging it to her back. She wiped the blood off the two arrows and shoved them in the quiver. Tathiel picked up Legolas, and the three ran into the hills.  



	24. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ellyth = elf maidens_

The elves ran further into the hills, away from the band of orcs that would soon be forced to retreat into the darkness of the caves. They heard cries and yells as the bodies of the two dead orcs were discovered.

“Are they following us?” Eärundra asked as she ran, not daring to turn around.

Tinánia had her bow in hand, an arrow ready as she brought up the rear.

“I think they have given up pursuit,” Tinánia called softly. “The sounds are fading.”

The sun rose above the level of the trees, bathing the hills with light which, reflecting off the snow, was nearly blinding in its intensity. Tathiel led the children for many hours through the hills, turning north again once she felt they had put several leagues between themselves and the orcs. They maintained a rapid pace, their breaths growing short in the cold air, leaving no air for speaking.

“Stop!” Tathiel said finally, as the _ellyth_ lagged further behind her, motioning to some rocks under a canopy of bare tree branches.

Packs were dropped without ceremony to the ground, and the tired _ellyth_ slumped on the rocks. They were tired, hungry, cold and shaken from the morning attack.

Tathiel sat down with Legolas, her arms aching, and stretched her back and neck. Legolas was asleep despite the cold, his head resting on her shoulder and his cold fingers clutching her tunic. She took a moment and studied Tinánia and Eärundra. They both appeared drawn, and neither made a move to drink from their water skins or reach for their food stores.

Tathiel felt close to despair. The hard days of travel, especially when they had moved at night, combined with the cold and lack of nourishing food was taking a toll on the children. Now the fear and fright of the morning, with the anguish at having killed, had pushed Tinánia and Eärundra into both mental and physical exhaustion. Orcs were everywhere. They had seen evidence of them or heard them nearly every day for weeks. Now bands were crossing paths, and Tathiel wondered if the morning’s confrontation was only the first of many more to come. The further north they had come, the more numerous the orcs were. Yet what other direction could they go? They could not return south; the Sea was to their east, and heading west through the hills added untold danger. She did not know how many leagues they would need to travel west until they came to the forest; she also now feared that the forest was where these orcs might be heading. Had shadow indeed returned? Tathiel bowed her head, resting her cheek on Legolas’ head and furry cloak.

They sat for some minutes, the air cooling the sweat upon their skin until all were shivering. Tathiel felt a tug on her hair, and looked into blue lips and chattering teeth.

“Tafiel, I c-c-cold,” Legolas stuttered the words, his stiff fingers brushing against her cheek.

Tears spilled from Tathiel’s eyes as she hugged him close. Clutching him with one arm, she released her bedroll from the straps that held it to her pack, and laid it out on the snow covered ground. She pulled the spare blanket and wolf pelt out of the pack, and wrapped him up in all of it. She then moved to Tinánia and Eärundra and, loosing their blankets, laid them out and helped the shivering _ellyth_ wrap themselves in the cold wool.

With a few hours of daylight remaining, Tathiel decided a fire was a necessity and with bare hands she dug the packed snow from the ground near the rocks until she reached hard ground. Gathering tinder from the dead branches of the trees, she managed to light a fire. Fortunately, there was dead wood nearby and it was cold enough that the wood was not wet.

The fire blazed, and as small bodies warmed Tathiel pulled rations from her pack. She found the waybread and the tiny bits of fruit, but not the dried meat. She quickly searched Tinánia’s and Eärundra’s packs, but found none there either.

Fear welled in her as her mind quickly retraced their steps of the early morning. She had been soaking the hard meat for Legolas. When they had fled in the morning, she had not remembered to pack the meat. It sat on the edge of the fire ring in the cave and likely provided the orcs with breakfast that morning.

Tathiel felt her heart sink. The waybread was not as nourishing as lembas, nor did it provide the essential nutrition that the elvish waybread did. Even on reduced rations they would not last on what they had for more than a few days.

The children had all fallen asleep in the warmth of the fire and blankets, and she gently shook Tinánia and Eärundra awake.

“Here, drink some water and eat of the waybread,” Tathiel said, handing portions to each.

The _ellyth_ took what was given them without question and ate without speaking. Tathiel ate some of the bread herself and drank of the water, then woke Legolas.

“Legolas, are you hungry? Wake, _nin tithen caun_ ,” she coaxed him.

“Leges hungry,” he agreed tiredly and nursed when Tathiel promised him some fruit afterwards.

The sun had fallen behind the treetops when Tathiel doused the remnants of the fire and roused the children once again. Tinánia and Eärundra had revived some with the rest and helped roll the bedding and blankets back into their packs.

“Will there be more orcs tonight, Tathiel?” Eärundra asked cautiously.

Tathiel sighed, then smiled. “There may be, Eärundra. We will hide from them; but if one or two find us we will manage them again.”

Eärundra smiled at that, then frowned, “I did not like killing it, but at the same time I am glad I stuck the knife in it.”

“Me too,” Tinánia agreed. “I am glad they are dead, and I would shoot them again if I had too, but I did not like it.”

“No elf likes killing any living thing without need,” Tathiel explained. “The orcs would have killed us. Sometimes we must defend ourselves; this was one of those times. I am very proud of you both. I do not know if I have ever heard of _ellyth_ of your tender years helping save their own lives and the life of the son of the king from orcs.”

Tinánia and Eärundra grinned at each other and with renewed energy shouldered their packs and followed Tathiel.

“Are we going to travel all night?” Tinánia asked.

“If we can find a sheltered spot we will hide for the night,” Tathiel replied. “I do not know if we hide better by moving when they move or by staying still.”

The elves continued north, moving quietly and listening for the telltale noise of orcs. Twice they heard sounds of orcs; once they hid in the hollow of a dead tree overhanging a ravine and the second time they climbed into the trees, packs and all, and watched as the orcs passed below them. By the time morning came, the children were again exhausted and fell asleep on the cold ground as Tathiel built up a fire.

“Legles going to see _Ada_ soon,” Tathiel woke from her brief nap to Legolas whispering in her ear as he played with her hair, cuddled in the warmth of the blankets and her body.

Tathiel rolled to her side to face him. “I hope you will see your _Ada_ very soon, _nín caun_ ,” she whispered back. “Did you dream of your _Ada_?”

Legolas nodded. “Lafron say _Ada_ waiting for Legles to come home.”

Tathiel propped herself up on her elbow, and stroked the fine blonde hair, tucking several wayward strands behind the tiny leaf-shaped ear.

“What else did Lathron say?” she asked him.

“Lafron said we have pretty trees an sleep in warm bed an Legles eat fruit an play,” Legolas rushed the words out with a smile. The smile faded, and he looked at her with solemn eyes. “Tummy hurt.”

Tathiel found a few slivers of dried fruit, and softened them with water.

“ _Hannon le_ ,” he said politely before eating the tiny bits.

“You are welcome, _nin tithen caun_ ,” she replied, wishing fervently she had more to give him.

Sitting up, Tathiel rummaged through the packs and pulled out the waybread. She ate a small piece and followed it with some water. Waking the _ellyth_ , she encouraged them to eat a whole piece each and drink of their water. She had found a tiny spring earlier in the day and refilled the skins. The clear fresh water was an improvement over melted snow, and Tinánia and Eärundra drank thirstily.

Tathiel scanned the landscape, noting the barren hills that stretched before them to the north and west. The landscape did not look promising for finding shelter. To the east were more trees, and the ground was flatter as the hills gave way to the gentle slope near the sea. There were more caves and sheltered areas in the trees. She had not seen any deer or rabbits high in the hills either. They also were more plentiful at the lower elevations.

Orcs seemed plentiful wherever they went.

“We will freeze or starve in these hills,” she murmured to herself, “and there will be orcs either way.”

That decision made, Tathiel led them that night in a northeasterly direction back toward the sea. The pace was slow as the winds increased from the north, and the cold air stung their eyes and faces. Once orcs nearly stumbled upon them, the whistling of the wind covering the noise of their approach. They made it only a league that whole night; instead spending much of it huddled in what shelter they could find from the wind and traveling orcs.

Three nights later, they had reached more level ground nearer the sea. The cold was nearly unbearable, and even the orcs were subdued. Tathiel chose a spot after dawn that third morning; a cleft in the hill, with some protection from the northern winds. She managed a fire with some effort, and the four elves huddled together against the frozen hillside. The snow was not deep, the northern lip of the cleft effectively shielding the hollow from much accumulation. Tathiel split the remaining piece of waybread three ways, and the _ellyth_ chewed in silence. Legolas nursed quietly, and Tathiel wondered how long she could produce milk without proper nourishment herself.

“We will rest a few hours and then see if we can catch a rabbit,” Tathiel yawned.

Tinánia nodded before drifting into sleep.

The sun had nearly set when Tathiel awoke. The fire had long since burned itself out, and the wind had picked up again. She sat up quickly, and then leaned back against the cave wall as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Closing her eyes for a moment, she oriented herself and then sat up slowly. Legolas had crawled almost completely inside her tunic, and was wrapped warmly against her body. At her side Tinánia and Eärundra were spooned together in deep sleep, their eyes shuttered and deeply burrowed in their blankets.

Tathiel was disentangling Legolas from her clothing when she heard a noise above her head. She immediately stilled and slowly moved her hand near Legolas’ mouth in case he were to wake and speak.

Above her she heard the unmistakable sounds of orcs on the move. Several had passed by on the road above them when they suddenly stopped. Tathiel held her breath. The fire had burned out, but the smell lingered as they had not doused it with snow or covered the small pit. An orc called out, and sound resumed but the sounds were not of the march continuing.

Tathiel heard movement on either side of them and saw shadows spreading out the embankment below them. She reached for her dagger, her fingers trembling. She looked at the three sleeping children. They were so exhausted that even the noise had not woken them.

She would not let the orcs take them alive.

She unsheathed the dagger and stared at the blade, quickly lowering it so that the moonlight would not reflect off it and give away their position.

Gripping the blade tightly in her hand, she felt tears begin to trickle down her face. She held her breath, and struggled to gain control of her emotions. She heard a call above her, and the orcs below turned and began to run up the hill. Yellow eyes gleamed in the moonlight, and she heard the grunts and strains of exertion as the first orcs regained level ground. An orc racing up the hill veered slightly north as he rushed to regain his position, and Tathiel heard increased sounds of agitation above her.

The orc nearly tripped over the fire pit, and as he cursed and turned to look up, he saw the elves. His shrill cry pierced the night, and Tinánia, Eärundra and Legolas woke with a start. The orc saw the dagger in Tathiel’s hand, and he dove for her just as she lowered the blade to Legolas’ throat.

He knocked the knife from her hand, and rolled her and Legolas over on to the _ellyth_. Eärundra screamed as the orc grabbed her leg and began to drag her down the hill. Tathiel had nearly regained the dagger when orcs appeared all around them. A large orc drew his long knife and jumped down from the hill, landing right next to the tangled elves. Tathiel curled her body over the children and cried out, waiting for the knife to strike, when a battle cry rent the night.

The orc with the long knife fell down the hill, an arrow passing through his neck. Two orcs fell over the hollow, landing at their feet, also dead by arrow. A battle ensued around them, and Tathiel pulled Eärundra back up under her, and they cowered under the blankets. Around them they could hear the twang of bows, the clash of iron against iron and the cries of battle. Horrific screams of dying animals pierced the night, and Tathiel went rigid when she heard the call to protect the horses.

The call was in Sindarin.

Tinánia and Eärundra heard it as well, and they clutched at Tathiel.

“Elves have come,” Tinánia whispered, joy mixing with the fear in her voice.

Tathiel sat up slightly, and saw the ground below them littered with dead orcs. She looked up and saw an elven warrior above her in hand to hand combat with an orc. The warrior swung one last time, dispatching the orc and then the warrior leaned over the hollow.

Eärundra and Tinánia looked up in time to see the elf peering down at them.

“ ** _NANA_**!” Eärundra screamed; Tinánia’s voice quickly joining hers. “ ** _NANA_**!”

If ever a warrior were to receive reward or payment for a hard and long fight, there was none greater than the sound of a missing child reunited with her mother after a prolonged absence. As Ethiwen tumbled into the hollow to hug her daughters, Galithon and Rawien exchanged smiles and renewed their fight with increased vigor. With their backs to the hollow in the hill below them, they protected that position with their lives. The orcs also renewed their fight, seeking to strike at the weaknesses of the elven war party – their horses and the young ones they were protecting.

The orcs continued to come, severely outnumbering the elves, and the fight was long and bloody. Ethiwen found herself on her feet, fighting orcs that approached them on the flank. As she cut the first down with her sword, and turned to swing at the second, she saw an arrow protruding from his chest. She cut him down, and saw a third approaching slightly above her position. She dove, thrusting her sword forward and tripping him. The orc landed on his face, and Tathiel stabbed her long knife into its neck.

With the attackers vanquished, at least for a moment, Ethiwen turned to see her oldest kneeling with a bow in hand, arrow notched; and Tathiel armed with a knife. Eärundra crouched behind them, Legolas on her knee, a dagger in her hand. She would have smiled at the sight, except she knew that such positions came from experience and her anger flared as she considered those responsible for placing her children in the situation to have to learn such things.

She leaped back on to the level ground, and took position at Galithon’s left. She could see Bellion and Meren firing at orcs retreating into the hills; Lachthoniel finishing an orc as he stood guard over Elunell, who knelt next to the fallen Sadron, and Laerion and Varandil beyond the horses.

Ethiwen slid back down the embankment, and gathered her daughters in her arms again.

“It is over,” she whispered in their ears. “It is over.”

Tathiel held Legolas close, her eyes closed as tears of relief finally spilled from her. She felt strong arms encircle her, and opening her eyes she saw Rawien before her. His large hand cupped her cheek, and a thumb brushed away the tear rolling down her cheek. She felt safe in that moment; safe as she had not felt since leaving home. Rawien swung her up in his arms, and carried her up the embankment to level ground. Ethiwen followed them, a daughter on each arm.

Rawien set Tathiel on her feet, Legolas still clutched in her arms. He was shocked at how light and thin she felt, how he could feel the sharp angles of bones. They walked to the area by the horses, where Varandil was tending the injured. Soft cries of joy went up as the warriors beheld the four lost ones, and they were quickly drawn into the group amidst laughter and tears.

“I see you forgot to move again,” Rawien knelt down next to Sadron, grasping the young warrior’s wrist.

“I have been a bit of slow learner on this trip,” Sadron managed a weak smile.

Rawien looked to Varandil. “How long?”

Varandil smiled grimly at Sadron. “If I sedate him we can go now.”

Rawien looked at the bandages on Sadron’s thigh and the dressings to the long slash down his abdomen.

“We cannot stay here. The orcs will be back, and soon.”

“He will ride with me,” Varandil said, already repacking his supplies. “All of the other injuries are minor.”

Rawien rose and joined Laerion and Lachthoniel as they prepared the horses. The orcs had killed two horses and a third was injured.

“Will she make it?” Rawien asked, rubbing the mare on the nose. She nickered, butting her head into his hand, wondering why he was asking them and not her.

“She will make it, but not with a rider,” Lachthoniel answered. She whinnied at him, and tossed her head but agreed she could not carry a rider.

Galithon joined Rawien as the horses were loaded.

“Varandil and Sadron together, Ethiwen takes Eärundra, and I think Elunell should take Tinánia,” Galithon stated. “Take Tathiel and Legolas with you. They are all so weak I do not think that Tathiel or Tinánia could sit a horse this night.”

Rawien nodded as Galithon confirmed his own thoughts. They lifted Sadron up to Varandil, as the others prepared to mount. He watched as Ethiwen lifted Eärundra to her horse, and then Tinánia to sit with Elunell. Tinánia hesitated to let go of her mother, and tears streamed from her eyes as her mother whispered softly to her.

“We will stay right next to them,” Elunell whispered in Tinánia’s ear as she gently pulled the child’s hand from her mother’s tunic. “Your _Nana_ will not be far from you.”

Rawien touched Tathiel on the arm. “Come, you and Legolas shall ride with me.”

Tathiel’s eyes brimmed with tears again, and she stumbled in weariness. Rawien steadied her, and asked, “Will Legolas let me carry him?”

He reached for the child, and was surprised when a small fist struck him in the chest.

“Bad man!” Legolas exclaimed. “No hurt Tafiel!”

“Shhh, Legolas,” Tathiel pressed him close. “His name is Rawien, and he is a good elf, not a bad man. He will not hurt us.”

Legolas glared at Rawien for a moment, considering this information. His eyelids were drooping, and the dark rings under his eyes were testimony to his weariness. Turning his back on Rawien, he wrapped his arms around Tathiel’s neck, locking his hands together, and tucked his head under her chin.

Rawien smiled at Tathiel, then gently lifted her and Legolas in his arms, placing her on his horse, and mounting behind her. Galithon tossed him a blanket, and he wrapped it around Tathiel, covering Legolas completely. With the four double riders in the middle, the group moved swiftly into the night.

***

“Shall we stop here for the day?” Galithon motioned to the clearing before them.

Rawien shifted his arm about Tathiel, settling her more comfortably against his chest. He had pulled her from her position astride the horse to a sidesaddle position during the night. It was slightly more precarious to ride sleeping this way, but far more comfortable when strong arms were available to hold the sleeping one in place. Tathiel had slept deeply, not even stirring during the night’s march. Yet he noted that her grasp on the child never relaxed.

Rawien nodded as he guided his horse to the spot Galithon pointed out. The others followed, and the change in motion and sounds of voices roused Legolas from his sleep. He pulled the blanket down from over his head, and found himself looking at the same elf who had tried to pick him up earlier.

“Good morning, Legolas,” Rawien said softly to him.

Legolas didn’t answer right away. He did remember Tathiel saying that this was not a bad man, but he was not in the mood to be friendly quite yet. He crossed his arms over his little chest, and eyed the tall elf sharply.

Rawien met his gaze solidly, neither speaking nor looking away.

Legolas looked away first, eyeing Tathiel and wondering if he should wake her. Without turning his head, he peered back at the elf. To his discomfort, the elf was still watching him. He finally sighed.

“Goomorning.”

Rawien smiled. “Are you hungry, _pen-neth_?”

Legolas tugged on the ties of Tathiel’s tunic. “Fruit gone,” he sighed sadly.

Rawien clearly heard the rumble coming from the little one’s stomach, and wondered how long it had been since they had eaten.

Another urge had come upon Legolas, though, temporarily causing him to forget his hunger. He eyed the big elf cautiously.

“Legles down, please,” he requested.

Galithon had been watching the scene with amusement, and he walked over and held out his arms to Legolas. Legolas pulled himself back tight against Tathiel, small fingers twining in her hair and the ties of her tunic. He stared dubiously at Galithon.

“Elf?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes, elf,” Galithon replied.

When Legolas still would not allow Galithon to lift him, Rawien instead lifted him and Tathiel in the air, slid his leg over the horse and then dropped to the ground with them both still cradled in his arms. He laid Tathiel down on the blankets Meren had spread on the ground and then held out his hand to Legolas.

Legolas carefully disentangled himself from Tathiel, and stood. He looked at the hand held out to him and finally slipped his fingers into the big ones. Rawien allowed himself to be led to edge of the clearing and watched amused as the tiny elfling relieved himself. He took care of his own needs and found himself under close scrutiny by the little elf. When he had finished, Legolas fell into step next to him as they walked back to the camp. He fought to keep a straight face as he saw Legolas trying to match his stride, mimicking the way he walked.

Legolas dove on top of Tathiel, waking her with his hugs and kisses. She glanced quickly around at that activity about her, and breathed deeply, closing her eyes, relief washing over her as she realized that they were indeed rescued; it was not a dream.

She hugged Legolas close. “Good morning, _nin tithen caun_ ,” she whispered in his ear as he squeezed her. “When did you wake up?”

“Elf not bad man helped us off horse an Legles not wet an Legles is hungry,” he tugged on her tunic ties. “Fruit gone,” he repeated his earlier statement with sadness.

“I am sorry, _tithen min_ , but the fruit is gone,” Tathiel felt tears burning her eyes. She did not think anything could tear more deeply at her heart than the look of a hungry child. She smiled at him, though, “You are not wet? You are becoming such a big elfling!” She hugged him again.

Tathiel looked up when the shadow of another fell over her, and she smiled as Rawien sat down next to her. He tucked her hair behind her ear, his fingers softly caressing her cheek. She let him assist her as she pulled herself into a sitting position.

“Meren and Laerion are hunting rabbits. We will hopefully have fresh meat in a little while.”

Legolas had finally untied Tathiel’s tunic when she did not do so herself, and Tathiel found herself blushing slightly. She settled Legolas in place, and pulled a blanket over him. He deftly reached up with his free hand and tugged it back down. He wanted to keep an eye on the big elf.

Tears stung her eyes again. “Fresh meat will be good. The children are very hungry……..” her voice broke off.

Rawien moved closer to her, pulling her to lean against his chest and wrapping his arms around her and Legolas. He pulled the blankets around them all, laughing when a small arm shot up and thrust the blanket back from his face again. Legolas sat up at the sound of the laughter, and peered over Tathiel’s shoulder at the big elf now sitting behind her.

“I have a little bit of fruit that Legolas can have after he finishes nursing,” Rawien said to Tathiel, not looking at Legolas.

His eyes twinkled as the small body slipped back down and resumed eating. Tathiel had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

She leaned her head back against Rawien’s shoulder and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth and feel of his body against hers. She felt warm and comfortable and safe. Tears slipped from her eyes again, and she let them fall. Months of pent up emotion; months of having to be strong for the little ones had caught up with her and she could not have stopped the flood of grief that slipped from her even if she had tried.

Rawien held her, his hand stroking her hair as she relaxed in his care and love. For he knew it was love; he felt complete with his arms wrapped around her. There was much he wished to say; much he wished to ask her. First, though, the four needed warmth, food, water, and reassurance.

Tathiel fell asleep again, and Rawien did not move until the small blonde head popped up and bright blue eyes stared at him. He smiled as he saw the little one trying to decide if he would ask for that which he heard awaited him.

“Would you like some fruit?” Rawien finally asked him.

Legolas nodded.

Rawien reached into the pouch beside him, and pulled out a few pieces of fruit. He handed them to the elfling, who took them carefully.

“ _Hannon le_ ,” Legolas remembered to say after the first piece was already in his mouth.

“You are welcome,” Rawien smiled at him.

Across the camp, Ethiwen sat with an arm around each daughter as they slowly ate of the lembas she had given them. She found herself watching every move they made; every nuance of emotion that fluttered across their faces; and she could hardly bear to be parted physically from them. They had just awoken, and few words had been said. Ethiwen wanted to know and hear from them all that had happened, every thought they had had and every emotion they had felt. She wished to chase away any shadows of fear that still hovered over them, and there was little she would not give to see the shadows disappear from beneath their eyes.

Eärundra looked up, and saw Legolas watching her from his position in Tathiel’s arms. She smiled and beckoned to him, and he rose slowly, looking back to the big elf. Rawien motioned for him to go, and he took a few steps forward reaching the middle of the camp, and then stopped when he realized there were big elves all about him. Most were watching him with amused and loving glances. He stole one glance back at Tathiel, but she was yet asleep. He looked forward to Tinánia and Eärundra, who were sitting with a big she-elf. Suddenly feeling very much unsure of himself, a frown appeared on his little face and his hands twisted in his tunic. Eärundra and Tinánia immediately sensed his discomfort, and they arose together. Legolas saw them stand, and since they were blocking the big she-elf from his vision, he was no longer afraid and flew to his _ellyth_.

When Tathiel next awoke she found herself still wrapped in Rawien’s embrace. He stirred as she moved, and she sat upright, looking for Legolas. Rawien pointed near the campfire, and she turned to see Legolas standing with a chunk of lembas in hand next to Tinánia. Meren was holding woolf as Legolas spoke to her between bites. Lachthoniel was roasting rabbit, and she watched as he cut a slice into tiny pieces. He seated himself by Meren, and gaining Legolas’ attention began to coax him with the morsels. Tinánia took the first and gave it to Legolas, and in no time he was eating readily from Lachthoniel’s hand.

“I was worried he would be shy since he had never seen a male elf,” Tathiel laughed.

“You explained to him last night that ‘Elf not bad man’. He has asked each one of us if we are an elf,” Rawien laughed. “Come, you must eat something. I understand you have not eaten much in nearly a week.”

Tathiel stood and stretched, shaking her head. “Our supplies were already low the morning we were attacked by orcs. In our escape the meat, as poor as it was, was left behind. The waybread of men is not sustaining, and we have suffered hunger,” she explained.

Rawien and Tathiel joined the others at the campfire; Legolas racing to Tathiel with a small shout of “Tafiel awake!” as he flung himself into her arms.

“Oniel give Legles rabbit meat an Meren lembas an she like woolf and Nania and Rundra’s _Nana_ is here an Sadron hurt and,” Legolas stopped, finally pointing at Bellion, “he has big bow but likes Nania’s bow an Legles not hungry anymore.”

The elves gathered around the campfire, and even those on watch listened in awe as Tathiel, Tinánia and Eärundra, with occasional commentary by Legolas, told their tale beginning with what happened in the cave as they saw Narawen and Alagos murdered and stretching to their capture and march across the iron hills; the obstinate dwarf; their subsequent escape when Tathiel drugged the men; their flight eastward in the hope of confusing any following them; the rockslide; Eärundra’s severe injuries and how Tinánia took charge; the wolf attack and the Watcher. They had to stop at this point to admire the wolf pelts and the gifts they received from the watcher, including the finely carved toys he gave to Legolas and the intricately designed fine bow he made for Tinánia. Tinánia even demonstrated her prowess by firing a few arrows at designated targets while Tathiel explained to Varandil how she treated Eärundra’s badly broken bones.

The story moved on to their trek out of the hills to Karan, and how they sent the messenger to King Thranduil, but were attacked that night in their campsite and taken to Agar by Hazad. Legolas was muttering ‘bad man’ under his breath when Hazad’s name was mentioned causing the adult elves to laugh. They told of the attack of Guryn on Tathiel and Legolas, and how the caravan split; of Hazad’s plans to marry Tathiel to his son Tal-Elmar; how Tinánia was attacked in the barn by Tal-Elmar’s wicked brothers and how Tinánia and Eärundra came to stay with Sarn and Balwyn and finally of the events that led Tathiel to escape once again. Legolas was encouraged to add his story and the group was treated to an excited run down of the barnyard animals ‘cow mooooeed and Legles not scared and chickens and cockadooooodledoo roosters and feeding baa-baa lambs’ before he frowned and hugged Tathiel explaining how ‘bad man hurt Legles and hurt Tafiel’.

Tathiel finished the story with their flight south around the Sea of Rhûn – the orcs they dodged on a constant basis; the day they shared the cave with orcs which brought groans of disgust from all three children; the attack the next day and how Eärundra killed the orc attacking Tathiel and Tinánia escaped with Legolas, then shot another orc off the cliff with her arrows. Tathiel explained how she forgot the food behind in their flight, and they had battled cold, hunger, and exhaustion.

“We were only going to rest a short while, then try hunting for some food that day,” Tathiel explained. She hung her head, “I fell asleep, and we slept the day away. When we woke it was dark, and the orcs were on us.”

“We heard the band of orcs and their excitement at having found something,” Galithon said. “The orc that stumbled upon you shouted that he had found elf younglings, and we knew it was you. We pushed the horses hard and into the midst of battle. There were nearly 80 orcs in that band.”

“I was worried when the four of you slept so soundly on the rest of the night’s ride,” Varandil added. “We ran into small orc patrols twice more that night and not once did you rouse. Hunger, cold and exhaustion had taken their toll on you. You obviously had not slept in many days.”

Tathiel was silent for a moment. She reached into her boot and pulled out her dagger. Rawien recognized it immediately as the one he had given her in the cave.

“As we were attacked I started to use this, and was terrified I was too late. Then you came, and I realized what I had nearly done……” her voice trailed off as her hand began to shake, then her whole body trembled.

Rawien wrapped his arms around her again, joined by Ethiwen and Varandil as they comforted her. Each adult present knew what she spoke of; the questioning look in the eyes of the children suggested they did not. Elunell distracted the _ellyth_ by asking them again about the Watcher and how he helped them.

Rawien drew back from Tathiel slightly, and cupping her face in both his hands, forcing her eyes to meet his, he said those words again.

“It is over.”

*******

**Author’s note:** _ellyth = elf maidens_  
nin tithen caun = my little prince  
tithen min = little one  
pen-neth = young one  
hannon le = thank you   



	25. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

Rawien and Galithon tended the horses, their eyes surreptitiously not on the horses but on the small group of elves sitting near the fire. A small tent had been constructed for privacy and warmth, and here Varandil was tending his patients.

Sadron was standing, gingerly placing weight on his injured leg and testing his ability to walk. Varandil kneeled in front of him, his fingers feeling the tension of the healing flesh and its ability to withstand movement. They saw Varandil shake his head and then help Sadron ease himself back to the ground, care being given to the healing wound that ran the length of his abdomen.

Tinánia and Eärundra sat with their _Nana_ a few feet away from Sadron. Ethiwen helped Sadron to dress once Varandil was finished with him, and Sadron was smiling and talking to the _ellyth_. They both were responsive to him, speaking to him in turn, both heads nodding as they smiled at something he said.

Once Sadron was comfortably resettled on his bedroll, Varandil sat upon the ground in front of the girls, speaking to them. They appeared comfortable with him, and both allowed him to examine them. Rawien and Galithon both noted that they could count the ribs on both girls as Ethiwen helped shift their tunics upward while he listened to their heart and lungs. The _ellyth_ were laughing, though, at some jest he made and when he was finished they stood before him and allowed him to hug them.

Ethiwen watched as her daughters sat down near Tathiel and Legolas, both of whom were again sleeping. Varandil and Ethiwen spoke for a few minutes, Ethiwen listening carefully and nodding her understanding. She then joined her daughters, and they gently woke Tathiel and then Legolas, motioning them to see Varandil.

Tathiel held Legolas’ hand and together they walked to the small enclosure. They sat down next to Sadron and spoke to him for a few moments. Legolas had his face buried in Tathiel’s neck, and it took several minutes for him to actually look at Sadron. Varandil kept his distance at first, then brought over some cream and fresh bandages. While Legolas watched, Varandil lifted Sadron’s tunic, and began to gently massage the cream into the healing edges of the wound. Sadron laughed and squirmed, evidently claiming Varandil was tickling him. Legolas finally rose from the security of Tathiel’s lap and walked closer to Sadron. He squatted down and gently touched Sadron’s stomach, pulling his finger away when Sadron jumped and laughed. Legolas laughed and touched him again. In a matter of minutes Legolas was ‘helping’ Varandil tend Sadron. He rubbed some of the cream on to Sadron and held the ends of the bandages as Varandil tied them.

“Does he have elflings?” Rawien whispered to Galithon.

“No, but does he not have a way with them?” Galithon replied. “The three elflings are skittish, understandably so, and yet within minutes with each he has established trust with them.”

Smiles on their faces, they watched as Varandil pointed to a spot on Sadron’s abdomen and then pointed at Legolas. The little elf lifted his tunic and found his own belly button. Varandil listened to Sadron’s heart, and then Legolas let him listen to his heart as well. Within just a few minutes, Varandil had managed to examine Legolas completely without the elfling experiencing any fear or discomfort. When he had finished, he pulled some bits of dried fruit from a pouch, and led Legolas over to sit with Tinánia and Eärundra. The elfling plopped down in the laps of his _ellyth_ and slowly devoured the morsels of fruit.

Rawien caught his breath as Varandil turned his attention to Tathiel. If they had found the young _ellyth_ thin, Tathiel was near to starvation. Varandil examined her carefully; then sat down face to face with her and began to talk. Tathiel looked distressed, and Rawien noted the sorrow in Sadron’s face as he sat too near not to hear the discussion. Varandil called Ethiwen over and she joined them, sitting down next to Tathiel, wrapping an arm around thin shoulders. They talked for some minutes; Varandil holding both of Tathiel’s hands in his own as he spoke, finally ending the interview and leaving the two she-elves alone. Varandil rose and walked towards where Rawien and Galithon stood by the horses.

Varandil stood before his captains, a troubled look upon his face. As he was considering his words, Galithon spoke.

“Let us start with Sadron. How does he fare, and what is his travel condition?”

Varandil let out a breath of relief; glad Galithon was aiding him by starting with the obvious.

“Sadron is mending well, but he still cannot bear weight upon his right leg. If we must continue this night, he will ride again with me.”

“And the children?” Galithon prompted him.

“Tinánia and Eärundra are physically tired and very thin. They need to eat regular nourishing meals and sleep in a warm bed, in a safe place and they will recover,” Varandil said. “We cannot provide those things out here, but they are very resilient. One day with their _Nana_ and already they are acting more like normal _ellyth_. If we can improve their diets and help them to feel safe, it will go a long way towards their healing.”

“Legolas,” Varandil smiled and shook his head, “is amazing. He is the right size for an elfling of his age. He speaks as I would expect, and has the appropriate skills. He is more afraid of people than is normal, but that is to be expected. He is the least starved of the four. He has been hungry, but there is no emaciation. It is good that we have several months of journey ahead of us, for he will become used to male elves and will fear meeting his family less. I do not understand exactly what has happened, but he knows his family. He seems somehow to speak to his brother Lathron in dreams.”

“Lathron has long been bothered by visions and dreams,” Galithon replied, curious. “What does he tell Legolas in these visits?”

“Legolas told me the names of all his siblings, and the _ellyth_ had only taught him the names of his sisters. He knows his _Ada_ is waiting for him to come home; he knows he lives amongst the trees; he knows a little of what he will do when he gets home – about where he will sleep and what he will eat and play with. It is really quite amazing and wonderful to hear this stated so matter of factly by a tiny elfling. The dreams are not abnormal to him; he accepts them as just another part of his life.”

“It is a blessing indeed,” Galithon admitted. “It will make his homecoming that much smoother. I am sure the king is concerned about the difficulties they will face bringing this little one into the family he has never met.”

“Which leads us to Tathiel,” Rawien ventured. “How does she fare?”

“I am concerned about Tathiel,” Varandil admitted. “I will do my best to explain what it is I think I am seeing. As you know, when a couple chooses to conceive, the she-elf nurtures the growing elfling inside her. She in turn draws her strength from the child’s father. This bonding experience is quite natural and very strong.

“In Legolas’ case, he was born too early and his mother killed. Tathiel stepped in to fulfill the role of _Nana_ , but she did not have a bond with the child or the child’s father. She poured forth a tremendous amount of her own energy and spirit to save him and then to nurture him. She did not have the child’s father to draw strength from, so all she gave was from herself only and there was no replenishing of that which she put forth.

“If she herself were well taken care of, this burden could be borne. They have lived for more than a year and a half in poor conditions; they have been physically taxed; underfed, without adequate rest and been in fear. All of those would drain a normal elf. In the midst of this, Tathiel has protected and cared for three children, none of whom she had a bond with. Into Legolas she has put all her spirit and energy without regard to her own well-being. She has hardly eaten in over a week, yet draws from herself to make milk that he might be nourished.

“You saw her, Rawien. I saw you watching. She is near starvation. Even this afternoon when the others ate, I cautioned her to take little and she listened because she knew. To eat now would overwhelm her system. We can gradually bring her back and restore her to health, but she must stop nursing Legolas. Yet she will not stop nursing him until she is sure we have food that he can eat that will be nourishing to him.

“She wants to return Legolas to the King whole and healthy, and she has worked and sacrificed to that end since the day the Queen died. She will not stop now.”

“What kind of food does a small elfling need? How long is a small one normally nursed?” Rawien asked.

“He needs fresh meat, fruits, and vegetables,” Varandil explained. “ _Lembas_ might get him by, but I have no experience feeding a small elfling nothing but waybread. He is of an age where an elfling is weaned; the question is whether we can provide what he needs.”

“Can they travel this night?” Galithon asked.

Varandil sighed, “They can if they must. It would be better if we could let them rest and recover before pushing them.”

“Unfortunately I doubt whether the orcs would be sympathetic to our plight and cooperate by leaving us alone,” Rawien replied dryly.

“Let us not forget what their fate would be this day had we not found them,” Galithon reminded them. “While it would be best to let them rest in a warm safe environment, this is not such a place, with or without orcs. We must go on this night. Same formation as last night.”

Rawien and Varandil both nodded in agreement. Galithon watched in some amusement as Rawien filled Tathiel’s pack and rolled up the bedrolls before informing her they would be departing at sunset. He strongly suspected that Rawien would attempt to create the environment Varandil described; indeed all of the warriors would know of Varandil’s concerns soon enough and it was likely that fresh meat would soon become abundantly available and the _ellyth_ would not be lifting a finger to help in a campsite anytime soon.

The party of elves set out that night just before dusk with Rawien, Varandil, Ethiwen and Elunell each with their charges in the protected middle positions of the formation. The mission of these warriors had been partially fulfilled, and they approached their travel in a different manner. No longer would they engage orcs in battle, nor remain to fight with those who attacked them. They now carried precious cargo, and all of their thoughts were on delivering that cargo safely home.

Twice Laerion and Bellion encountered Orc parties while scouting the path ahead, and each time they held up the elves until the orcs had moved on. Near morning the two were attacked, and they fled away from the main party, drawing the orcs away from the elves and into the hills. Laerion and Bellion were on horse and the orcs on foot; thus they were quickly able to circle back and rejoin the party.

Laerion and Bellion found a place to set up camp after sunrise the next morning and led the elves to that position. Tathiel and Legolas had slept most of the night in Rawien’s arms; Tinánia and Eärundra had dozed on and off and were glad to get off the horses and move around.

Rawien silently handed the sleeping Tathiel and Legolas to Galithon and spread out their bedrolls near where the campfire would be built. Galithon gently laid them down there, covering them both with extra blankets and Legolas’ beloved wolf pelt.

As Rawien was arranging packs, Meren approached him. Without words, she handed him a small pouch which held all of the dried fruit she had remaining of her provision and some of her waybread. In her other hand she held a few rabbits that she had shot already that morning. She returned his silent smile of thanks, and went to skin the conies as Laerion built the fire. Elunell followed Meren, with a similar offering.

By the time Legolas and Tathiel woke, each of the warriors had donated the best of their provisions. Whether word had spread that quickly amongst the warriors, or they had simply overheard Varandil’s concerns Rawien did not know.

Legolas sat up bleary eyed, and sat still for a moment as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. He toyed with Tathiel’s hair, rubbing it between his fingers as he looked around. Finally spotting Rawien, his face broke into a grin and he stood, walking over to the big elf. Rawien smiled at him, taking the tiny elf by the hand; they walked to the edge of he camp where a small spring had been found and together they took care of their morning needs. Legolas copied Rawien’s actions closely, splashing cold water on his face and washing his hands in the freezing water.

“The water is cold,” Rawien observed, one eyebrow raised at the little elf who sputtered as drops of water ran down chin. He dried Legolas’ face and hands with a cloth and the little elf grinned.

“Legles likes cold water, like Rawen,” he stated.

“You think I like cold water, do you?” Rawien laughed. “I like it better than no water, but a warm bath would be better, I think.”

Legolas stared at him blankly at this, and Rawien realized the child had probably had very few baths in his life.

“Are you hungry, _tithen min_?” Rawien asked, taking him by the hand to return to camp.

“Legles hungry,” Legolas agreed. “Tafiel sleeping.”

“Meren is cooking a rabbit for you, and I have some fruit,” Rawien enticed him.

Legolas perked up. “Fruit?”

Rawien smiled as they reached their bedrolls. He opened one of the little pouches that had been left on the bedroll, and poured out a small handful of fruit. He added to this a bit of lembas, and then set it on the blanket in front of Legolas with a small skin of fresh water.

Legolas plopped down on to the blanket before the food, and looked up at Rawien. He looked uncertain, and Rawien sat down next to him. He pulled some strips of dried meat from his pack and began to eat. Legolas watched him for a moment, then picked up the fruit and placed it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, savoring the taste before swallowing and drinking of the water that Rawien held out to him.

“Good fruit!” Legolas grinned at Rawien.

“I am glad you like it, Legolas,” Rawien replied, smoothing the child’s blond hair down with his hand.

Meren and Varandil brought over pieces of cooked rabbit for them. Meren left portions for Rawien and Legolas, while Varandil quietly added lembas and fruit to the tray he carried.

“This is what I want Tathiel to eat this morning. Not all at once, either. Do not let her choose the amount or what to eat. All of this between now and next meal. She may need to nurse; if so she may, but limit it. Keep Legolas nice and full, but not too much fruit at once or someone will need many rest stops this night or have to go back into swaddling,” Varandil smiled at Legolas.

“Legles big elf!” Legolas declared at the mere mention of swaddling.

“Legolas is a big elfling,” Rawien agreed. “Come, eat some more meat.”

Rawien waited until Legolas was done eating, and then taking a third of what Varandil had laid out for Tathiel he woke her.

“Tathiel, it is time for breakfast,” he gently shook her.

Tathiel woke with a start and would have smacked into Rawien if he had not gently restrained her by the shoulder. She quickly composed herself and then struggled against him as she looked around the camp.

“Legolas……..,” Tathiel said, twisting under Rawien’s hand.

“Legolas is fine,” Rawien replied softly. He directed her attention to where Legolas sat playing with Eärundra on her bedroll.

“He must be hungry,” Tathiel sat up, pushing her hair from her face.

Legolas saw Tathiel sit up, and jumping to his feet raced across the small distance to her. He flung himself on top of her with such energy that she would have fallen if Rawien had not braced her with his arm.

“Tafiel awake!” Legolas crowed gleefully. He hugged her, squeezing her tight and squealing when she squeezed him back.

“Are you hungry?” she whispered in his ear.

Legolas sat back in her arms, “Legles not hungry. Had meat an fruit an lembas an water an playing with Rundra and washed with Rawen.”

Tathiel looked at Rawien in surprise, then at the plate fixed for her.

“There is fresh meat again?” she asked. “The fruit we should save for Legolas, and the _lembas_ should not be eaten at all. We should save those in case we need them later.”

“There is plenty of fruit for Legolas and enough _lembas_ for you to have some today,” Rawien answered her, placing the tray in her hands.

“But I……,” she began.

“No argument. Varandil’s orders,” Rawien interrupted her.

Tathiel sat still, staring at the food in front of her. Her mind raced with all sorts of thoughts. Did they not understand that better planning was needed than this? They could not rely on having fresh meat every day, and surely the fruit supply would not see Legolas home. The child could not eat the dried meat or waybread of men, and she had to nurse him to maintain her milk supply in case the good provisions ran low. How could she make them see that she had to plan for him and protect him?

Rawien settled himself next to her, and taking her chin in his hand, he forced her to look at him. “For nearly two years you have been responsible and cared for the children. You are exhausted and emaciated from this burden. Trust us to take care of you and Legolas and see you safely home. Look,” he pointed to the pouches of fruit piled on his bedroll. “We have enough fruit that Legolas can have some every day, probably with every meal. We will come to Dorwinia in another month or so and can get more fruit there. Rabbits and deer are plentiful for fresh game, and we have _lembas_ too.”

Tathiel opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. She was trembling and close to tears, and she did not wish to cry again. That all of the warriors had given of their provisions that the rescued ones might eat of the best there was ……..

“For nearly two years you bore all the responsibility alone; now you have ten more to aid you. Let us help restore you to health and do each what we can to provide for Legolas and Eärundra and Tinánia,” Rawien whispered softly to her. He directed her eyes to where the _ellyth_ sat with their _Nana_ , “Ethiwen accepts what we can give because she knows us and trusts us, and because we have been with her these long months. You have relinquished the _ellyth_ to their mother’s care, now you need to let us care for you, _nín meleth_.”

The tears began at this endearment, and Rawien gently embraced Tathiel, stroking her hair and whispering softly in her ear. She clung to him, accepting his strength and his love, for that was what he had offered her.

Legolas had been nibbling on the fruit throughout their conversation, but when he saw his Tathiel crying and the big elf holding her tight, he jumped to his feet and small fists flailing he struck at Rawien’s head and shoulders.

“My Tafiel!”

Rawien pulled back, ducking under the tiny fists raining ineffectual blows across his head and back. Tathiel held her arms out to Legolas, and he threw himself at her, turning and glaring at Rawien.

Tathiel found herself laughing through her tears, and Rawien joined her. Legolas did not appreciate being laughed at, and he grabbed Tathiel’s face in both hands.

“No laugh Legles!”

“I am sorry, _nín tithen caun_ , we are not laughing at you,” she struggled to regain a straight face. She blushed, looking away from Rawien for a moment, “Tathiel likes hugs from Rawien and from Legolas.” She paused, “I have a secret for you, Legolas.”

His anger waning, Legolas wished to know the secret. He turned in her arms slightly and peeked at Rawien who watched him nonchalantly, a slight smile on his lips. He turned back to Tathiel, both hands on her face again he whispered, “What secret?”

“Rawien likes hugs, and you can squeeze him as hard as you want.”

Legolas grinned. Sometimes he had to squeeze less hard when he played with Tathiel, for she said he was too strong for her. He turned to watch Rawien who was now watching the birds in the tree.

With a little war cry, Legolas flung himself at Rawien and squeezed him as hard as he could. Rawien caught him easily and squeezed gently in return.

“Ai! He is so strong!” he called out in mock dismay.

The other warriors in camp exchanged amused smiles and watched with great satisfaction as Tathiel ate and Legolas played.

“Legolas, will you come help me, please?” Varandil called to him.

Legolas rose from Rawien’s lap and walked cautiously towards Varandil when Rawien motioned him that he could go.

“I must change the bandages on Sadron’s tummy, and you helped so well yesterday I would like your help again today,” Varandil explained as the little elf approached him.

Legolas walked up to Sadron, and squatted down next to him, soon caught up in helping ‘Vandil fix Sadron’s tummy,’ and Tathiel returned her attention to Rawien, who sat patiently next to her.

“Varandil will watch him. Sleep again,” Rawien pulled the blankets up over them both. He caught Galithon’s eye across the camp and saw the twinkle there. He held up his fingers, indicating which watch he should be woken for and Galithon nodded. He mouthed the word back ‘slowly,’ and Rawien blushed and nodded. He would go as slowly as needed. But now that he had her, he would not let her go again.

***

Lathron woke with a start, and sat up in his bed with heart racing. He calmed himself, then threw on his dressing gown and went to his brother’s room.

Bregolas had just returned from a prolonged patrol of the eastern border of Mirkwood. He had reported massive increases in spiders and orcs, as well as signs that Dol Guldur was again inhabited. Black mist hung thick and heavy across the southern reaches of the forest. He had led his war party on several forays into and around the forest, but in all the months he had been out no signs of the missing elves or Rawien’s rescue party had been discovered. The patrol had arrived home a fortnight ago, and plans were underway to send out fresh warriors.

Lathron knocked softly on Bregolas’ door, then gently opened it. Bregolas jumped at the intrusion, his senses still heightened from the weeks on patrol.

“Bregolas?” Lathron called to him softly.

“Lathron, you are fortunate my bow is so far from my bed,” Bregolas replied sleepily.

“Come, we must talk to _Ada_ r,” Lathron tossed Bregolas’ dressing gown to him.

“In the middle of the night, _muindor-nín_?” Bregolas groused agreeably as he slipped the robe on.

His words met empty air as Lathron had already left the room. Bregolas shrugged the robe on, and followed him with a noticeable lack of grace to their father’s chamber. Lathron had already roused Thranduil by the time he dragged himself into the room, and Thranduil smiled at the yawn of his eldest. The palace guard on duty had noted the sons rousing their father and had already sent for tea.

“Rawien and his warriors have found them,” Lathron began without ceremony. “Yesterday, I believe. I cannot tell where exactly they are, however.”

Bregolas shook the cobwebs from his head. “How do you know this? Did you have another dream?”

Lathron nodded. “Legolas’ thoughts become easier to read, and it is as if he speaks to me. Sadron is injured and Legolas ‘helped’ Varandil care for him. Rawien is there, and Meren and he speaks of the _Nana_ of his _ellyth_.”

“His _ellyth_?” Thranduil raised an eyebrow, a smile about his lips.

“Oh yes, and his ‘Tafiel’ as well,” Lathron grinned. “Legolas is quite the possessive toddler.”

Thranduil closed his eyes and found his hands shaking. He stilled them and then felt strong hands closing over his own. He opened his eyes to Lathron and Bregolas now sitting close, one on either side.

“ _Ada_ , are you well?’ Lathron asked.

“Yes, _nín ion_ ,” Thranduil smiled. “I am just……….overwhelmed at this news you deliver so casually. Legolas is found, and the _ellyth_ and Tathiel too?” Lathron nodded. “My son is coming home, and no one will stop them this time.”

“We must send warriors to meet them,” Lathron broke in, standing again. “They have been in great danger, and were saved from certain death when the warriors found them. I cannot explain this part – Legolas seems confused by what happened when they were found. But I feel they will soon be in great danger again, _Ada_.”

“You can tell on this that the danger is still forthcoming?” Bregolas asked.

“I believe so,” Lathron said, wincing slightly. “I may be wrong, _Ada_ , but I do not think so. I just sense that they will need help.”

Bregolas rose and grasped his pacing brother by the shoulder. “Then I will go,” he said simply.

Thranduil glanced from one son to the other. He had learned to trust Lathron’s visions and was pleased that Bregolas placed such faith in his younger brother.

“They are near the sea,” Lathron said. “I do not know more than that.”

Thranduil rose, still feeling somewhat shocked by this news. “Assemble the captains in the Great Hall at daybreak, Bregolas. Lathron, you and Urithral shall be present as well. Until then, both of you try to sleep.”

Lathron and Bregolas took their dismissal with grins on their faces, and left the room already planning the mission. Thranduil rose as well, and instead of returning to his own bed he slipped into the small chamber next to his own. He sat on Legolas’ little bed, and fingered the cloth of the blankets as he tried to picture in his mind the image of a tiny blonde elfling, as described to him by Lathron. It was here he spent the remainder of the night, remembering his dear Narawen and anticipating meeting their young son.

*******

**Author’s note:**  
 _ellyth = elf maidens_  
tithen min = little one  
nín tithen caun = my little prince  
nín ion = my son  
muinador-nín = brother mine  
nín meleth = my love  
Adar/Ada = father/dad  
Naneth/Nana = mother/mom  



	26. Dorwinia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

The elves spent a fortnight and a half journeying from the south of the Sea of Rhûn to the town of Dorwinia. Galithon had set the pace with guidance from Varandil, traveling each night at an easy speed, evading and avoiding orcs, and in some cases stopping for hours at a time if a band of orcs did not move out of their way. After ten days they were out of the hills and the threat of orcs diminished some as their hiding places lessened. The remaining days of travel had been spent in the woodlands and prairies, and the elves had rejoiced to see the trees budding with new growth.

Galithon leaned against a fallen log near the edge of the camp. _Anor_ rose in the eastern sky, shining its cheery morning face upon the waters of Rhûn. It was early spring, and snowdrops poked through the melting snow straining ivory petals to greet the sun as it journeyed overhead. Galithon appreciated the beauty wrought of Arda but found his thoughts drawn west to Elvenhome. Traveling with elflings reminded him of his own son lost at Dagorlad, residing now in the Halls of Mandos or perhaps he had been released to dwell in Tol Eressëa.

“Where do your thoughts lead you this morn?”

Galithon had felt the approach of another and turned now to smile at Lachthoniel, who brought with him portions of the morning meal for each of them.

“Children,” Galithon replied, accepting the food. “I can not recall elflings in the midst of a war party in my many years.”

Lachthoniel lowered himself to the ground next to Galithon. “I can not think of any tale told where elflings were the reason for the war party’s search.”

“Perhaps Elrond and Elros, when they were found near the Mouths of Sirion in Beleriand,” Galithon mused.

“Perhaps,” Lachthoniel shrugged agreeably.

The two elves ate in companionable silence, watching and listening instead to the elflings and elves gathered near the campfire. Sadron was fully recovered and moving about normally. He had established a friendship with the young brother of his friend Alagos, and Legolas had taken to following Sadron about the camp. Sadron sat near the campfire, laughing in a game of ‘peek’ as Legolas hid behind him, jumping up to his right before resuming hiding, then popping up on his left. Galithon smiled as he watched Sadron finally reach over his shoulder and grab the elfling by the waist, flipping him upside down then plopping the child down in his lap. Legolas squealed in glee, jumping up and running around to Sadron’s back with calls to ‘Do again!’

“Who will tire first?” Lachthoniel asked.

“Legolas will tire fairly quickly,” Galithon laughed. “When his energy runs out he will be looking for Tathiel.”

As predicted Legolas kept the game up for only a few minutes more, finally slumping in a heap in Sadron’s lap. He nibbled some fruit, then walked slowly around the fire to Tathiel. She sat as had become usual, leaning against Rawien, his strong arms holding her close to his chest. Legolas pushed the big elf’s arm to the side, cuddling up close to Tathiel then pulling Rawien’s arm around him too. Content, he nestled in to sleep.

“What is your prediction?” Lachthoniel elbowed Galithon.

“I think I might have to help him along. Not much,” Galithon grinned as Lachthoniel jabbed him again, “just enough to ensure he has the right tools when he finally decides the time is right.”

“How about the other two?” Lachthoniel motioned to the two sitting a little apart from the others.

Galithon snorted. “We just need to get them home so he can speak to her parents.”

“How do you plan to help Rawien along?” Lachthoniel pressed him.

“Why _are_ you so inquisitive this morning?” Galithon inquired.

Lachthoniel grinned, “I have a bet with Bellion and Laerion.”

“Aye, and you hope to further your odds by ‘helping’ the lovebirds along,” Galithon chuckled. “We will stay here a few days to replenish our supplies and gather news of orc activity to the north. Ethiwen and I have time to explore the shops.”

Lachthoniel jumped to his feet, graciously taking both plates back to the campfire. “That is good information to have, my friend.”

Galithon shook his head as he saw Lachthoniel join Laerion and Bellion and the debate among the three began anew. He turned his attention back to the elflings. Ethiwen already lay sleeping, her daughters spooned against her and her arms around them both. Varandil was right: just the short time in their _Nana_ ’s presence had done much to restore them to health. They were eating well, the gauntness of their faces lessened; their cheeks again round and rosy. Yet their eyes were at times haunted, and often they startled when approached.

Galithon found himself filled with anger at the men who had put such fear into children. Tinánia and Eärundra initially avoided the male elves altogether. Gradually they had come to trust Varandil as he gently cared for them. Sadron teased them and both girls remembered happier days when he had taught Tinánia and Elumeril the rudimentary skills of archery. They had accepted Laerion with similar memories. The _ellyth_ knew him as well, for Galithon had long been friends with their _Nana_ and _Ada_ ; his presence known to them since their birth. Galithon had watched each of the male elves make careful overtures to the _ellyth_ : Bellion admiring Tinánia’s bow, listening to her shy tale of how she had used it to shoot the orc off the cliff and then again in battle the night they were rescued; and then his invitation to practice together.

Meren too had befriended Tinánia and often the child was seen practicing her skills under the watchful and tender gazes of the archers.

Eärundra’s experience killing the orc that had attacked Tathiel had strengthened her courage and self-worth while also drawing her away from any desire to play at being a warrior. She instead mothered Legolas, playing with him with his animals and teaching him new words. Shyer yet than her sister, she remained close to her _Nana_ , Tathiel and Legolas. She trusted Rawien and accepted him readily when he joined her and Legolas in their play. Varandil and Ethiwen had spoken long about Eärundra, for her broken hips and legs while healed were not restored to normal. Sitting the horse for hours each night wore on the child and she walked stiffly and painfully each morning. In times of pain she turned often to Tathiel first for relief, and Galithon noted the sorrowful expressions in the faces of both Tathiel and Ethiwen at this. Both Tinánia and Eärundra had called for Tathiel in their sleep when scared, and both woke to their _Nana_ ’s tender voice and clung to her, relief evident that the nightmare was over.

Across the camp Tathiel would silently weep. She felt as if part of her soul had been torn from her when the _ellyth_ were returned to their mother. For while she had hoped, wished and struggled for that day, it meant sundering a bond she had forged with them over the many months in the cave and in captivity. She would hold Legolas close, still nursing him in the night hours, although more for comfort than sustenance, and she knew the day was coming when she would relinquish him to his _Ada_ too.

Her comfort lay in Rawien, and it was in the warmth and safety of his arms that she drew her strength. He whispered words of love to her; words of never leaving her again and she knew that with his patience she would heal of this hurt too.

All of this Galithon watched and observed, for his great skill in tracking and captaining the King’s guard had led him to note the most minute of details and the subtlest of behaviors. He saw the young love of Varandil and Elunell that had grown since he had tended her wounds. Varandil would speak to her parents, and they would follow traditional ceremonies for the pledging and binding of their lives together. It was a love that would grow and flourish as the households to which each belonged also joined.

Thoughts of his long friendship with Rawien brought a smile to his lips, and Galithon laughed inwardly. Rawien had watched Tathiel for over a century, never betraying his feelings about her to anyone, including the she-elf herself. He was a patient elf, ever waiting and watching for the right time. Neither he nor Tathiel had family in Mirkwood; there were no parents or siblings to encourage and join with them. Rawien certainly seemed to realize what he had nearly lost, as he had not let Tathiel out of his sight since they had recovered her and seldom removed himself from her physical presence either.

Galithon appreciated that Rawien could go slowly and had encouraged it for he had recognized the shock that Tathiel was in when found. Their love could not be based on the emotion of the rescue or the safety she felt in his arms. But he also did not wish his friend to be so patient that he ever remained only a friend to Tathiel. Dorwinia was the only large town they would pass on their journey home, and with many months of travel yet before them he and Ethiwen had decided a little encouragement might be necessary.

Feeling rather smug in his plans, Galithon drifted into sleep.

***

The camp established by the elves that morning was on the outskirts of Dorwinia. The city’s militia patrolled a border just to the east of the camp, and throughout the day the elves had noted the timing and passing of the guards. The captain of the guard was the same one that they had met the summer before, and he spent some time sitting with Galithon, offering his own words of pleasure that the mission of the elves had been successful.

All of the camp had awakened by early afternoon, and plans were already being made to enter the city. Galithon wished for information about orc activity and any word from the north and west. Ethiwen wished to obtain suitable clothing for her children, who had grown in the two years away from home. Tinánia’s arms and legs had far outgrown her tunics and leggings, and the month of improved food meant that seams were finally stretching tight. Eärundra had grown less, but her clothing was sadly worn and torn, and needed to be replaced.

Laerion, Bellion, Sadron and Lachthoniel had taken apart the carrier Tathiel had made for Legolas when they walked out of the Iron Hills and into Karan, and were debating the best way to remake the item into a carrier that would allow the child to sit securely in front of an adult, facing forward, but without stretching small legs onto either side of a horse. Their debate and animated motions had drawn looks of amusement from all of the she-elves; and even Rawien and Galithon found themselves laughing at the four young warriors. None had children nor knew the least thing about elfling care and feeding, but all had strong opinions on how Legolas should ride home. They would be going into town to obtain supplies, once they agreed on what those supplies should be.

Varandil needed to replenish his medical kit, and Elunell wished to accompany him. The two were past giving excuses for spending time alone together, and bets had been placed on whether the two would return from their trip into town with matching silver rings.

“Do you wish to go into town, Tathiel?” Rawien asked.

Tathiel lay on her side on her bedroll, one of the wolf-pelts spread out in front of her and Legolas’ carved animals all around her. Legolas currently sat leaning against her, chattering about the animals. She had long since lost the thread of the story he was weaving, and she smiled at the interruption.

“I do not wish to bring Legolas into town,” she replied, “nor do I wish to go myself.”

“Then we shall stay here,” Rawien replied. He continued grooming his horse, watching the two play together while watches were set and those not on duty prepared to go into the city.

“You do not need to forsake the trip because we do not go,” Tathiel reminded him.

“There is nothing I need that Galithon cannot obtain for me,” Rawien replied mildly. If she thought he was leaving her side, she was sorely mistaken.

“A longer strap of leather, with a buckle, and then it could be adjusted so he could ride with any, regardless of their height,” Laerion’s voice rose slightly above the others.

The four elves descended on Tathiel and Legolas, and neither even blinked an eye at their approach. Legolas dutifully stood without even breaking from the tale he was creating, and sat on the leather and canvas contraption the warriors had made. The warriors argued amiably, adjusting and moving the straps.

“Ai!” Legolas squealed as he suddenly found himself lifted high off the ground. He couldn’t see who held him, as he was in the carrier facing forward, his back pressed to someone’s chest. He finally tilted his head back and looked up to see who had him. “Bellon!”

Bellion grinned down at the elfling before proclaiming success to the others. “This will work well. See, there is minimum pressure on my shoulders and if I had to I could quickly release the whole carrier to reach my bow.”

“Yes, but if there were buckles, then someone shorter than you could take him while you went off to shoot your bow,” Laerion argued.

As quickly as they had come, the four were gone.

“How soon before they realize they still have Legolas?” Tathiel asked, sitting up and watching as the four moved back to their design area.

Rawien shook his head in mirth. His horse butted him gently, and he resumed brushing the gelding. Anorion considered the small two-legged colt his, so why the others were fighting over him when clearly the little one, his master and his master’s lady all belonged to him, was beyond his good horse-sense.

“We are leaving,” Galithon approached with Ethiwen, Meren and the _ellyth_. “Varandil and Elunell will accompany us into town. We leave you those four for protection.”

All eyes were directed to the four, who were passing the carrier with Legolas still seated, around the group for each to try on.

Meren began to laugh, her shoulders shaking. “If we should return to see orcs sitting about the camp with the harness about their necks, being measured to carry the _tithen caun_ , we will know they have left sanity behind. I am astounded by the amount of time and energy those four have dedicated to this project with such single-minded purpose! Tathiel, how long did you spend creating the original carrier?”

Tathiel leaned back against her pack, stretching in the warming sun. “Perhaps four hours. I had help though, too. Eärundra entertained Legolas and Tinánia caught rabbits for dinner.”

The roar of laughter from the other side of camp momentarily garnered the attention of the four warriors, but they failed to recognize themselves as the brunt of the humor and quickly resumed their debate.

***

Dorwinia’s main road was crowded with street vendors displaying their wares, as well as the storefronts of the more established merchants. Varandil and Elunell split off from the group immediately to search for healing supplies. Ethiwen located a general store which sold clothing and fabrics, and the rest of the elves entered together.

The shopkeeper was kind, and found suitable clothing for both _ellyth_ and Legolas. The tunics and leggings were earth toned, and though lacking the fine detailing the elves would have added, the pieces were presentable and functional.

“We should replace Tathiel’s tunic while we are here,” Meren said softly to Ethiwen. “It is badly torn.”

“That happened the first day,” Tinánia offered. “She said it made it easier to nurse Legolas. Guryn ripped her other tunic almost all the way off her. She used it for bandages for Legolas’ arm after Guryn threw him.”

Galithon, Meren and Ethiwen all stared at the child. When they had related the story of being taken hostage and held captive, this level of detail seldom surfaced. Details of this nature tended to emerge in day to day discussions, and Ethiwen found it very disconcerting. She did not know what to expect or when to expect it.

“How did your tunic become torn, Tinánia?” Galithon asked.

Tinánia looked away quickly. Ethiwen drew the child to her and hugged her close.

“Hazad’s sons, Nurnan and Patel, attacked me in the barn. Nurnan ripped my tunic. Tathiel came just in time to stop them from hurting me more,” Tinánia replied softly.

Ethiwen squeezed her shoulders again, and Tinánia breathed a sigh of relief. She hesitated to tell her _Nana_ what had happened, wishing not to cause her mother pain. Yet telling what happened helped to ease her own pain.

“For that I am very thankful. Which tunic do you think she would like better?” Ethiwen held up two garments before Eärundra and Tinánia, deftly changing the subject.

Purchases paid for, Ethiwen led the _ellyth_ form the store. They stopped next at a jeweler’s.

“ _Nana_ , why are we going to a jeweler?” Eärundra questioned.

“It is a surprise. You must keep this a secret, _tithen min_ ,” Ethiwen smiled.

“When elves fall in love and decide to bind themselves together, it is customary for them to exchange silver rings pledging their love. They will take those back and give gold rings in their stead on the day of the binding ceremony,” Galithon explained.

“Who are they for?’ Eärundra asked.

“Think,” Tinánia nudged her sister.

“These are for Tathiel and Rawien?” Eärundra asked, her face lighting up with a smile.

Galithon grinned back. “Yes, and I shall give one ring to Rawien and your _Nana_ shall give the other to Tathiel. That way we can nudge them a little about pledging themselves to each other.”

Eärundra continued to smile as she considered this new information. Tinánia was already looking at silver rings.

“How do you know they want to pledge themselves to each other?” Eärundra asked after a moment of thought.

“We can just tell,” Ethiwen laughed. “We have been with Rawien for many months while we looked for you.”

“Tathiel did not talk about him,” Eärundra was confused.

“It was not safe for her to do so, and I do not know that she would have told us anyway,” Tinánia was not in the least bit upset by this. “Come look at this one!”

Eärundra was quickly drawn into the decision of which rings to purchase, and Galithon stood back while the four she-elves decided on what ring Rawien should give Tathiel. Galithon had quickly picked out a ring suitable for Tathiel to give Rawien.

Decisions made, each ring was carefully wrapped and slipped inside a small leather pouch. Galithon tucked one into his tunic while Ethiwen took the other. After paying the jeweler, Meren led them back out on to the street.

“Galithon.”

Galithon turned at the sound of his name. The captain of the militia beckoned to him, and excusing himself from the she-elves, he joined the man.

“When last you were here, we spoke of a man who made a point of telling many in town that a she-elf and her children were taken south by the Haradrim,” the captain spoke softly. “That man has returned. I have asked him his business here, and he said they are searching for his nephew’s wife and son who have disappeared.”

Galithon had started at this revelation, and now found himself gripping the hilt of his sword tight.

“Where is this man? How many are with him?”

“They are camped to the east of the River Celduin. I suggested they stay within the city borders, but he is arrogant and says he does not fear orcs.”

“Thank you, my friend, for this information,” Galithon bowed slightly to the man. “I must return the children to our camp.”

“If you were to return after nightfall to question these men, I and my patrol would gladly accompany you as witnesses,” the captain replied thoughtfully.

“After dark, then, at the bridge,” Galithon agreed.

The captain departed, and Galithon hurried to catch up to the she-elves.

“You have made your purchases?” he smiled as Tinánia and Eärundra showed him the food stuffs they had picked out. “This looks good enough to serve at a feast.”

Galithon caught Meren’s eye, and he nodded in the direction of the market. She swiftly departed to find Varandil and Elunell.

“Come, let us return to camp,” Galithon steered them quickly back the way they had come.

Varandil, Elunell and Meren met them just at the edge of town, and they returned to camp. Legolas was sleeping sprawled out on top of Tathiel, who lay napping beneath him. Ethiwen handed the packages of food and clothing to her daughters.

“Show Tathiel your new clothes and the tunic you picked out for her.”

Tinánia and Eärundra exchanged glances. Clearly something had happened in town and the adults did not wish them to know of it. Tinánia watched as her mother joined all the other warriors near the edge of the camp, leaving Tathiel and the three children near the campfire.

“What is happening?” Tathiel woke as the _ellyth_ seated themselves next to her on the ground.

Tinánia grinned at her. “The warriors will tell us when they wish. I thought they were talking around us because we are young; perhaps they are talking around us because they are warriors.”

“We have to show you what we bought in town, Tathiel,” Eärundra was less concerned about warriors. “Look at your new tunic!”

***

“I wish to go,” Ethiwen stated firmly.

“Five will go,” Galithon replied, equally firm. “Five must stay and guard the camp. Myself, Bellion, Meren, Laerion and Lachthoniel will go.”

Galithon watched the single eyebrow arch and eyes narrow as Rawien listened to the orders he had just given. Ethiwen started to speak, but was restrained by the light touch on her shoulder.

“Galithon is right,” Rawien stepped forward. “Your place is with your children this night, Ethiwen. A terrible tragedy it would be to find your children and then be lost yourself in the event of a battle.”

Galithon and Rawien locked eyes for a moment. As commander of the war-party, Rawien had the right to lead this group as well as to call his friend to task for asserting leadership in the matter.

Rawien lowered his eyes.

“Galithon will lead the party this night, and for the remainder of the journey home,” Rawien stated solemnly. “I act now as his second.”

Rawien stepped back into the circle, leaving Galithon in command to lead.

Galithon looked out at amused glances and saw something slip between Laerion and Bellion. He suppressed a smile himself and continued.

“They are camped to the east of the Celduin, despite warnings from the militia of orc activity. We will meet the patrol guards at the bridge. They will accompany us to act as witnesses to our questioning. It is not our way to carry out punishment for wrongs committed without due justice. At home the accused would stand before the King. Here we will follow the laws of men. We might request that we be allowed to escort them to stand before our King; however I do not wish to travel with such men when their presence would be a torment to those they have already wronged. Prepare to leave at nightfall.”

The warriors dispersed to attend to the matter of dinner and also, apparently, to the wager. Rawien and Galithon stood together in silence. Galithon pulled the leather pouch from his tunic and grasping his friend by the arm, placed it in his hand.

Rawien unwrapped the parcel in silence, loosing the silver ring from its nest of cloth. He looked at Galithon in surprise.

“I have nothing for you, my married friend,” Rawien laughed softly.

“You have publicly admitted your love for her by stepping aside from leading this mission. Use this when the time is right to tell her. Earlier I cautioned you to show restraint. She loves you too, _gwador-nín_ , and she is able to bear your love. Do not make her wait long.”

Galithon clapped Rawien on the back and walked back to the campfire.

***

Legolas sat on his wolf-pelt, dressed in his new clothing, with a slice of fresh bread with butter in one hand, a pile of dried berries and nuts in his lap, and roasted chicken in his other hand. His mouth was full, and he seemed in a quandary what to cram in it next.

Across the camp Sadron sat with a small sketchpad and charcoal pencil, sketching the elfling. He had done several of the small elf in the past weeks as a gift for the child’s family. He smiled as he tried to capture the look about Legolas’ face, the sheer delight at the feast before him. It had been many months since the child had eaten this well.

“What is happening this evening?” Tathiel softly asked Rawien.

Rawien was silent for a moment. Finally meeting her gaze solidly he told her the truth.

“The men who held you captive are in town. The captain of their militia reported to Galithon that the same man, Guryn I believe his name would be, who spread the tale of your being taken by the Haradrim has returned looking for the wife and son of his nephew.”

Tathiel immediately rose, reaching for Legolas, but was stilled by Rawien’s grasp of her arm.

“You are safe, as are Legolas and Tinánia and Eärundra. We will go with the men of the militia to their camp tonight.”

Rawien drew her next to him, covering her shaking hands with his own, calming her.

“Who will go?”

“Galithon, Bellion, Laerion, Meren and Lachthoniel. The rest of us stay to guard the camp.”

Tathiel considered this information. She was glad he was not going; she was glad Ethiwen would not meet these men.

“Will they be brought to stand before King Thranduil?” she asked slowly.

“No, we will allow the justice of men to prevail,” Rawien answered. He drew her chin up to look her in the eye. “The children will not ever look upon them again.”

Tathiel sighed with relief, then smiled. “Can you not hear Legolas calling them bad men for all to hear?”

“I would gain amusement but will not upset him with their presence. All of the gains made with each of the young ones would be lost if they were subjected to the company of such men. Elven justice is not worth that price. They may find the justice of Men harshest of all. Stealing children is a serious offense here.”

The five elves selected to confront the men left not long after nightfall. The children all sensed the tension about the warriors who remained, and the camp was quiet and still as the elflings played quietly. They were settled into sleep a few hours later as the warriors waited patiently.

The moon had risen fully and Eärendil was well into his nightly journey when the five returned. Meren was limp in the arms of Bellion, who staunched the flow of blood from an arrow wound to her shoulder.

The camp had roused at their approach, and now the fire was built fresh as each rushed to the aid of the injured. Varandil quickly relieved Bellion of his charge, carrying Meren to a place near the fire. Elunell helped Galithon from his horse, supporting his weight as he eased himself to the ground. He attempted to stand, but crumpled to the ground as the pain and injury to his leg proved more serious than he had thought. Laerion quickly scooped him into his arms, and gently placed him next to Meren.

“What happened?” Rawien was already stripping the legging from Galithon’s battered leg.

“Orcs.” Galithon grimaced. “The men were under attack when we arrived. Large party, like to the size we fought the night we found the little ones,” he estimated. “Varandil! We think the arrows were poisoned.”

Varandil was carefully removing the arrow that had passed through Meren’s shoulder and out the back of her tunic. She moaned in pain, and he motioned for Elunell to hurry with the pain draught.

“It is a common poison, painful and burns terribly but not fatal,” Varandil replied as he held the arrow head gingerly with a cloth. “What of your leg?”

“Broken,” Rawien replied brusquely. “How did you manage this?”

“A daring leap from his horse,” Lachthoniel answered for him as Sadron tended a scratch across his cheek. “Meren would be dead if he had not done so.”

Elunell finished mixing the pain draughts, and lifting Meren’s head poured the trickle down her throat. The medicine worked quickly, and soon she was stilled, allowing Varandil to finish tending her wound.

“You next,” Elunell commanded Galithon.

All thoughts of argument slid from his mind as Rawien unwrapped the hastily applied bandage from his leg and pain flowed through him. He, too, drifted quickly into oblivion.

The children had all woken in the bustle of activity, and Tinánia moved to sit nearer to Meren. Ethiwen was now assisting Varandil as they cleaned and bandaged her shoulder, and tended to other minor wounds on her side. Tathiel held Legolas, woolf clutched in his hands and silent as he took in the scene before him.

“Meren hurt,” he whispered softly in Tathiel’s ear.

“Meren is hurt, but she will wake up later and feel much better,” Tathiel stroked his hair.

Ethiwen and Varandil finished with Meren, and Legolas squirmed down from Tathiel’s arms. He walked a few steps to where Tinánia now sat with Meren, seating himself carefully at her side. A warm blanket had been placed over her, and Legolas could just see her hands lying limp on her abdomen. He slipped woolf beneath her hand, then pulled the blanket over her arm.

Galithon’s leg was set and the wound carefully packed and wrapped. They would not stitch the skin closed yet. It would be several days before he could move, and Varandil would not sew the skin or splint the leg until the swelling had lessened.

The injured tended, the elves gathered near the roaring blaze to hear tell of what happened.

“We met the militiamen at the bridge and crossed the Celduin,” Bellion began the story. “The camp of the men was nearly a mile beyond the crossing; quite foolish given the orc activity this spring. We heard the sounds of battle as we approached and saw the men and orcs fighting. They were greatly outnumbered and not skilled in battle. Three had fallen before we arrived, and the remaining three were losing ground. It was too close a battle for arrows so we were forced into hand combat immediately. Meren had killed two orcs threatening a young man, and was shot by an orc at close range. Galithon did indeed jump from his horse, knocking the orc aside. The aim was not true and caught her in shoulder.

“We routed the orcs, chasing them into the darkness. One of the militiamen died this night, and they also had one with serious injuries.”

“What of the men in camp?” Ethiwen finally asked.

“Four were dead in the battle. Another died as we left. The one remaining was taken back to Dorwinia by the militia.”

“Do you know the name of the one who survived?” Tathiel asked hesitantly.

“Hazad,” Laerion answered. “The young man Meren saved was Tal-Elmar; but he succumbed to his wounds not long after.”

There was silence in the camp. Tathiel stood and walked into the darkness, just at the edge of the camp.

“Tal-Elmar was nice to us,” Eärundra said softly.

Tinánia held Legolas, and he squirmed. He could not see Tathiel and longed to follow after her.

“Tafiel!” he finally called out impatiently.

Rawien motioned for Tinánia to release him, and he held out his hand to Legolas who ran to join him. The little hand slipped into the big one, followed by, “Up, please.”

Rawien swung Legolas into his arms, and they moved in the darkness to where Tathiel stood. Legolas reached for her, one hand twisting into her hair as he crawled from Rawien’s arms to hers. She hugged him close and felt small fingers brushing away her tears.

“Tafiel sad,” Legolas observed.

A small sob escaped her, and Rawien tentatively put his hand on her shoulder. She buried her head into his arms.

“He was a nice boy. Hazad did not deserve such a son. Tal-Elmar did not deserve to die,” small sobs escaped her between words.

Rawien gently stroked her hair, feeling a small hand beneath his comforting in the same way.

“Sometimes sons pay for the foolishness of their fathers. I am sorry, Tathiel. I wish I might have met this man who was kind to you,” he whispered gently.

“I guess it is truly over now,” Tathiel spoke into his shoulder.

“It is over, _meleth-nín_. Come, let us return this little one to his bed.”

***

“Rawien, how long until we depart? I can not take much more of this mothering,” Galithon called to his friend, laughter in his voice.

“When all the mothers and healers in this camp say you are fit to travel, we will go,” Rawien answered.

Legolas patted Galithon on his good leg. “Galthon hurt. Legles help.”

“That is what I am afraid of,” Galithon groaned.

Ethiwen swatted him on the shoulder. “Be nice! That is your prince you are speaking to. . . .”

“There they go!” Laerion interrupted gleefully.

All eyes watched as Rawien and Tathiel walked a short way out from camp. Rawien chose a place where they were a little screened from view but were not screened enough for sharp and eager Elven eyes. There were sighs from the she-elves as Rawien dropped to one knee before Tathiel. All saw the glint of sunlight reflect off the silver ring as he placed it on her finger, then he raised the slender fingers to his lips and kissed them. They watched as he pulled his _meleth_ down to sit on his leg, and she cupped his face in both hands, murmuring her response. All watching knew the response to be favorable when Rawien wrapped one arm tightly about her waist and drew her head down with his other hand, kissing her long and tenderly.

Legolas had been playing at Galithon’s side when he noticed that everyone was watching something behind him. He rose to his feet, and peered out from between Sadron’s legs. He saw his beloved Tathiel sitting on Rawien’s knee, and then he saw them kiss. He looked up at all the big elves watching the pair; and then watched as the kiss continued. He was too fast for Sadron to catch, and the little blond whirlwind raced to his Tathiel.

He flung himself into their embrace, ending their kiss, and two sets of eyes beheld him. He grinned, then squeezed them both.

“Tafiel like Rawen!” he pronounced.

“Close, _nín tithen caun_ ,” Tathiel replied. “Tafiel loves Rawen.”

And she kissed him again.

*******

**Author’s note:**   
_anor = sun_  
ellyth = elf maidens  
Nana = Mom  
Ada = Dad  
Nín tithen caun = my little prince  
Meleth-nín = my love  
Tithen min = little one  
gwador-nín = brother mine (unrelated, brother in arms, blood brother)   



	27. Bregolas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

Bregolas signaled for Urevio to halt and the horse slowed from a gallop to a walk and then stopped. He wiped the sweat and dirt from his brow with the sleeve of his tunic. Drawing a deep breath he turned and looked back west. Elven archers were firing upon the last of the orcs still fleeing into the murky darkness of Mirkwood. Aranu called off the attack and the archers pulled back.

“ _Anor_ rises,” Galthenin spoke quietly as he reigned in next to Bregolas. “It is over for another day.”

“In my lifetime I have never seen such activity of evil,” Bregolas admitted.

“You are young, _nín-caun_ ,” Galthenin spoke with millennia of experience. “Yet I too have not seen shadow so dark over the Greenwood in many centuries.”

Bregolas smiled grimly at his captain. He might command this force, but he trusted Galthenin and Aranu as his captains implicitly. They served him with devotion, indeed had trained him to the position he now held. Aranu joined them, and the three allowed their horses to be taken and cared for while they talked.

“Causalities?” Bregolas asked.

“Minor,” Aranu replied.

“One serious, the rest minor,” Galthenin answered for his unit.

Bregolas was silent for a few moments as he pondered the night’s battle. Aranu’s warriors had battled orcs coming in west from the woodlands, while Galthenin had dealt with spiders in Mirkwood as well as a band of orcs that had approached from the south. Most of Thranduil’s elves lived north of the Mirkwood mountains, but in the time of peace several small groups had settled again near the Old Forest Road. These local settlements of elves were expending much of their energy and resources against the growing threats, and only a night earlier Aranu had led a small group of warriors on a scouting mission south. They had not gone far when they came across a patrol from the local settlement deep in battle with goblins. The combined group had quickly routed the band. The settlement’s patrol painted a grim picture. Spring had brought renewed danger from spiders, orcs and evil men. They were able to protect the paths through the forests but were becoming stretched too thin to do this as well as protect their own villages.

“We cannot spare more warriors to guard the settlements,” Bregolas finally said. “It is time they moved back within the secured borders of the realm.”

Aranu and Galthenin exchanged glances, confirming their agreement with their prince.

“I do not wish to spare any from this mission for that task. Aranu, when we have finished please arrange that a messenger be sent to the King explaining the situation. Ask for additional guards to be sent to escort those who must be moved,” Bregolas finished.

Aranu nodded.

“We have traversed the length of Mirkwood and back, and scouted east to the river and back since early spring,” Bregolas changed the topic to the missing elves. “Many orcs we have routed, yet it seems for all we have killed they reproduce just as quickly. A party of ten warriors can withstand much, but I fear if they are battling orcs as we are, they will quickly be worn down.”

“They cannot effectively fight when they are protecting the children in their group,” Galthenin added. “We also do not know their condition. In addition to four they must protect, they may have injuries, loss of horses or even loss of warriors.”

“So how do we best help them get home?” Bregolas laid the question before his captains.

“We began this mission intending to provide them clear passage home. To some degree we have done that. We have routed the orcs, pushing them south. What we do not know is what is happening east. I believe the warriors will follow the river home. Flooding is minimal this year, and orcs don’t like water and open skies. We must take care not to push the orcs east towards them,” Aranu offered.

“I propose we split the units,” Galthenin suggested. “Bregolas, you accompany one unit down the Celduin. Perhaps you will meet and aid them directly. One unit continues clearing the lands south and east of the Old Forest Road.”

Bregolas felt relief fill him. Dol Guldur was occupied and active, shadow had thickened and deepened over Mirkwood, and the elves of his father’s realm were no longer safe. There was much to occupy the warriors of Mirkwood, and Bregolas struggled with balancing the needs of their people at large with the needs of these specific few.

Galthenin and Aranu watched the prince’s internal struggle with tinges of paternal pride. Both recalled the brash and headstrong your warrior first entrusted to them centuries ago. They both felt some pride for the wisdom and leadership abilities that Bregolas had developed. That he recognized that this mission was personal and assumed no direct command confirmed to the captains that the prince had indeed grown wise.

Bregolas nodded at Galthenin. “That shall be our plan.”

Aranu excused himself to compose the messages outlining Bregolas’ decisions and change of plans. Galthenin sat quiet for a moment, composing his own thoughts before speaking.

“Legolas is your brother, and only a small child at that. Choosing him as your primary concern of this mission is appropriate, Bregolas. It is not often that one is forced to choose between the needs of those they serve and the needs of the ones they love. This is not one of those times. Do not create a conflict where none exists.”

Bregolas considered the words of his mentor carefully. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“My captains are more than capable to command without me watching over their shoulders,” he eyed Galthenin for a response. “Is this not also what you mean to say?”

“Aye, _nín caun_ ,” Galthenin chuckled, a twinkle in his eye. “Just this once we shall manage without you, _pen-neth_.”

“I do not think I shall ever grow too old to be teased by you, shall I?” Bregolas laughed, his heart already lightened.

“Only if you wish it, Bregolas. Only if you wish it,” Galthenin clapped him on the shoulder as he stood. “Come and eat. I smell breakfast.”

***

Galithon lay flat on his stomach in the grass of the slight ridge, Bellion to his right and Laerion to his left. The two had scouted ahead, as had become their normal routine, before the party of elves continued forward with the children. They had reached the juncture of the waters of the Rivers Celduin and Carnen. Thick woods covered the land on either side of the juncture, and on the western bank the slope rose steeply against rock worn smooth by the flow of water over time. Steep paths threaded up the hillside from the water to the woods above, and it was here that Galithon’s attention was drawn.

The paths had shown recent use, evidenced by the lack of encroaching vegetation and the pebbles and rocks piling at the edges of the path, pushed there by sliding feet as they tramped the steep hill. Small branches of shrubs and trees were torn, the downward bend and missing leaves indicating they were used for leverage by those climbing the steep path or slipping down it to the water.

Galithon drew back slightly, allowing the rise of ground to further muffle any sound of his voice.

“How far did you explore?”

“To the top of the hill,” Bellion whispered back. “There is evidence of shelters and campfires; all recently occupied but not currently in use.”

“Men or orcs?”

“Both,” Laerion replied. “Sometimes at the same time.”

Galithon pondered that information. Orcs and men, together?

“When was it last occupied?”

“Night before last,” Bellion answered. “This appears to be a resting place for different groups moving west.”

Galithon inched quietly back down the ridge, motioning the other two to follow.

“If there are men and orcs together, we have little advantage in trying to pass by day or by night,” Galithon reasoned. “Let us hope there are none planning to stay here soon.” He turned and led his scouts back to the rest of the party.

It was now mid summer, and they had slowly made their way north and west. They had stayed in Dorwinia for several weeks while Meren and Galithon healed from their wounds and Tathiel and the children continued to gain strength.

Hazad had been questioned by the militia. The deaths of his sons had broken him, and he did not deny the charges brought against him. The penalty for such crimes under Dorwinian law was death. The accused was allowed to plead for mercy, and the ones wronged had the right to deny or allow the magistrate to offer it. Hazad did not ask. The magistrate later told Galithon that the man seemed to have given up any reason for living. He loved Tal-Elmar dearly and the death of his favorite son had broken his heart. Even at the end he blamed the elves for his son’s death. His mind reasoned that if Tathiel had not run away they would not have been camped in the place where they were attacked by orcs.

Galithon alone of the elves witnessed Hazad’s execution. His crimes garnered little attention in the town, and the only others who attended his execution were the executioner, the magistrate, and those who guarded him. That he was executed was not discussed in the elves’ camp. Neither Tathiel nor the _ellyth_ had asked his fate after the night of the battle. They had spent their time helping nurse Meren and Galithon back to health; and all were rejoicing that Tathiel and Rawien had plighted their troth. Hazad had been forgotten. Rawien and Ethiwen knew a day might come when one of the four would ask his fate; they would answer the question if it arose.

When Galithon had recovered from his wound well enough to ride, the party broke camp and followed the Celduin north. Nothing in the journey was left to chance, and they moved with all the stealth wood-elves were capable of. Even the horses seemed light-footed and silenced their own discussions as well. The day’s trail was well scouted before they traveled, and the pace was easy. The warriors were pleased with their charges. Varandil had discussed with them the need to re-acclimate the children gradually to the company of elves. To this end, the war party behaved more like a camping trip in the presence of the young ones. Watches were faithfully kept, the trail was scouted and plans were made out of their hearing. When it was deemed safe to do so, songs were sung and tales told around the campfire. Fresh meat was caught nearly every day and supplemented with food items purchased in Dorwinia. The children flourished under the care and attention of the warriors.

Legolas was soon comfortable with any of the elves in the party. His carrier was a success, and he delighted to ride with Sadron in particular. He moved from person to person and horse to horse with ease, calling each by name.

“To think I was concerned he would not adjust to male elves easily,” Tathiel smiled as she saw the little prince stretch his arms out to Lachthoniel from his current seat with Sadron.

The buckles had won out, and the carrier was quickly unfastened and the whole contraption with child passed to Lachthoniel. Lachthoniel deftly fastened Legolas to himself, and then began feeding the elfling bits of his fruit.

“Shy he is not,” Rawien answered, his warm breath tickling her ear from his position behind her. “He really is quite an endearing child. He does not fuss, nor throw tantrums or wake up on the wrong side of the bedroll.”

“Especially if he is given the treats he so desires,” Tathiel laughed at the bribery Lachthoniel had used to win the child over to him.

A slight trill sounded in the distance, and all of the elves perked at the sound. Horses were stopped and the party remained still until Galithon, Bellion and Laerion emerged joined them.

“Let us stop here for a break,” Galithon suggested. “It is nearly time for the noonday meal.”

Drawing Rawien away from the others, Galithon, Bellion and Laerion sat down and with sticks drew a map of the area in the dirt.

“It is a prime ambush area,” Galithon explained, sketching the terrain. “The river borders us to the north and east and there is a ravine that runs parallel to the river here. The orc camp sits here on this angle, with the river beyond it and the ravine in front of it. To go around it means leaving the relative safety of the river and moving west through these woodlands.”

Bellion explained the camp and what they had found, and how recently they thought someone had been there.

“Should there happen to be enemies west of the ravine, they could easily force the unwary traveler either into the ravine or straight into the camp,” Rawien mused. “For the safety of the caravans that trade along this route, the camp should be destroyed.”

Galithon looked at him in surprise. “You suggest that we take out the camp?”

Rawien quickly shook his head. “No, just thinking out loud. We must avoid being trapped here, but when possible we must send those who can destroy it.”

“There is no one present there now,” Galithon pondered aloud, “so it is a good time to pass this area. However, even if we pick up the pace we will not reach it until nightfall. I do not wish to pass at night nor to camp near there. I suggest we eat, then move on to this spot,” he pointed at the map, “where we can camp for the night. From these trees we can keep watch on this whole area.”

***

Tathiel was surprised when camp was made at the positions taken by the warriors. Bedrolls for herself, Legolas, Tinánia and Eärundra were placed in the very center of the camp. There was no fire. The horses were led to an area under the trees near the river. Watches were set, and instead of the usual one or two elves on guard, on this night there were three at all times. The children all sensed the tension of the warriors and drew close to Tathiel. Ethiwen smiled reassurances to her daughters, but she was needed this night to help watch. It was the first time since the _ellyth_ had been reunited with their mother that she would not sleep with them.

The moon was fully risen in the clear night sky when Tathiel heard movement in the camp. She sat up quickly, Legolas in her arms.

“Wake the children,” Galithon whispered. “Get the camp cleared.”

Tathiel roused Tinánia and Eärundra, letting Legolas sleep until she had to wake him. They quickly rolled up all the bedrolls and attached them to the packs near them. Tinánia began carrying the packs to the trees where they would be hidden from sight. Eärundra was slower to wake and had moved slowly at first, but now she began to help move the packs as well.

“Wake Legolas,” Galithon returned, appearing in front of them suddenly. “Come.” He led them to the trees, and near the riverbank where the tree roots had become exposed from the previous years floods he showed them a hollow. “Stay here.”

Tathiel gently shook Legolas awake, murmuring to him to stay still and quiet. She climbed down the embankment, the _ellyth_ quickly following her. Tinánia had her bow and dagger; Eärundra had her dagger, and Tathiel had the long knife. Legolas held woolf, graciously returned to him by Meren when she was well enough to no longer need such comfort.

In the trees above them, Sadron took up position with his bow. He had seen the orc band moving in from the east, crossing the Celduin south of them. Laerion had spotted a party of men moving in from the west, crossing the ravine and taking up positions in the camp. Elunell had noted a presence moving down the Celduin from the north west. They had quickly realized they were surrounded.

Galithon knew that remaining unseen was their only hope in surviving unscathed. The party to the south numbered at least five score; the men two score, and the size of the group from the north was still not measurable. He sent his warriors into the trees to watch and stationed others near the horses. Soothing words were murmured to the horses – to stay still and quiet.

Then they waited.

The orcs from the south were passing to the west of them, in some cases only several hundred feet from where the elves hid. The first had joined the men in their camp and seeing no need for silence the two groups were already at odds. The elves remained silent, glad for the noise that would distract the orcs still passing by them as well as the group moving in from the north.

A command was heard, and the remaining twenty orcs stopped where they were. Several dropped to the ground, and others dug out their water skins and rations. The elves watched the orcs take their rest where the children had been sleeping only a short time before.

In the hollow under the tree roots, Tathiel held her breath as she realized the orcs were stopping at their campsite. She felt Eärundra’s hand slip into hers, and she squeezed the small fingers gently. The moonlight reflecting off the waters cast flickers of light upon the child’s face, and Tathiel saw fear and determination. She squeezed her hand again; they had shared quarters with orcs before and they would survive it again.

Another command was heard, and the orcs prepared to resume their journey. One broke off from the main group, walking near to the river. What his intentions were – to relieve himself, refill his water skin, or something else they never knew – for he saw the horses .

The orc called the alarm, and the small band turned, running towards him. The chirp of a cricket was heard, and the orcs began to fall, arrows protruding from necks and chests. The cry went out, and in the camp the men and orcs quickly assembled forces.

Tathiel clutched the children to her as the sounds of battle increased above them. The sound of arrows striking flesh was soon complemented by iron striking iron. Shrieks and cries of those dying rang through the night. Instead of lessening as the minutes slowly passed, the sounds of battle increased.

In the trees and on the ground near the horses, the ten warriors fought with blade and bow. The first twenty orcs were dispatched fairly quickly, only to be replaced by more. Soon the cries in the orc tongue were mixed with cries in the common tongue as the men joined the fight. Ethiwen saw orcs racing for the river, hoping to gain position behind the elves. She leaped off the embankment, landing in the shallow water, her sword raised above her head impaling the orc that followed.

As the sounds of battle drew closer, Tathiel unsheathed the knife, holding it loosely in her right hand. She shifted Legolas to her left arm, ready to thrust him to Eärundra if need be. Tinánia was already crouched, an arrow notched in her bow. Tathiel heard the ping of the bowstring, and saw a figure below them fall. Orcs were in the river. A second orc noted their position, and Tinánia let loose a second arrow, felling him as well. A slight smile crept over the child’s face. Bellion had been teaching her how to gain the most power from the bow, and his teaching had helped. Her arrows flew now with enough force to kill the orcs attacking them.

Tathiel loosed Legolas’ arms from her neck, and shushing him quietly she handed him to Eärundra. She crept next to Tinánia, knife in hand. Two more orcs rose from the water. Tinánia shot one, and Tathiel waited until the next was close enough to strike with her knife. She had opened a nasty gash on the creature’s chest when he fell to an arrow as well. This one had not come from Tinánia, but there was no time to look above to see who was aiding them.

New calls were heard, and Tathiel recognized them as elvish. Her mind immediately wandered, wondering if Galithon was calling to make them think there were more elves than there really were?

Above her, Galithon was wondering the same thing. He instinctively knew where his warriors were on the battlefield, and the call had not come from one of their positions.

Galithon parried with a man far more skilled in warfare than an orc. The man was cursing him in a language he did not know, mixed with threats in the common tongue. Galithon held his peace, meeting blow for blow and finally disabling the man with a thrust to the bicep. The man dropped his sword, and Galithon pressed home the advantage slicing his sword deep into the man’s chest. Even in that moment of battle he was repulsed at killing a man. He had fought side by side with them at Dagorlad. He had killed them at Dagorlad too – those who served Sauron had died with the orcs and goblins that day. The thought still sickened him.

More men and more orcs were pouring into the clearing, and Galithon realized they could not win this fight. He feared they had waited too long to run. He began to move towards the riverbank, his attention momentarily distracted as he looked for Ethiwen. He needed to tell her to gather the children and Tathiel and several horses and head east across the river.

The distraction proved costly, and Galithon felt the burn of a blade as it struck his leg. He remained on his feet, feeling the blood running down his leg and pooling in his boot. With a grimace of pain he resumed his fight, swinging with renewed force at the man who had dealt him the blow. Another man appeared next to him, and Galithon took a second hit to his non-sword arm. He dropped to his knees then, his leg no longer able to bear his weight. He raised his sword, deflecting another blow from the first man and saw too late the sword raised in the hand of the second man. He rolled as the sword swung and felt all his breath sucked from him as a crushing blow struck his chest. A heavy weight buried his face into the dirt, and he felt darkness descend upon him.

On the riverbank Tinánia pulled her second to last arrow from her quiver, and notched it into her bow. Three orcs were approaching. She loosed the arrow at the first, and when he fell he knocked the orc behind him down into the water. The third continued, and Tathiel leapt at him with her knife. She caught him in the face with her knee as he climbed the hill, and sunk the knife deep into his exposed neck as he fell. She rolled off of him in time to see Tinánia notch her last arrow. A taller figure approached from the north, bow in hand. Another cry below them; another orc climbing the embankment. The orc was nearly to them; the tall figure was closer. Tinánia had heard the men above. This one was too tall for an orc. She swung her bow around and drew back the arrow.

“ _Daro_!” Tathiel cried as Tinánia released the arrow.

The cry was enough to throw Tinánia off balance, and the shot was not true. It struck the tall figure in the arm. At the same time the orc below them fell.

In the clearing above them there was similar confusion. The mass of orcs and men were dropping before they reached the elves, and it took the elves several seconds to realize their enemies were being attacked from behind.

Rawien called the Mirkwood battle cry, and nearly was stabbed when the call was answered; his surprise allowing the orc to gain a foothold. A horn sounded, and the battle cry was repeated. The men and orcs turned to flee and ran into their attackers. Elven archers finished off those who turn to run south.

Silence descended over the battlefield. Rawien turned around slowly, trying to locate each of his warriors.

Galithon lay face down in the dirt, two men sprawled on top of him, arrows protruding from their backs. Ethiwen was down on one knee, unable to stand, blood pouring from the wound to her hip and thigh. Sadron was collapsed near the horses. Elunell and Meren were aiding each other. Varandil was on his knees, this time in need of aid instead of rendering it. Tathiel and the children he could not see; he hoped they remained safe in hiding.

He slowly sank to the ground as the blood loss from his own wounds sapped his strength. Strong arms caught him as he fell, and he looked up into the face of an old friend.

“Aranu.”

Aranu eased him to the ground, quickly assessing his wounds.

“Your timing is good, but not perfect. You still need to work on that,” Rawien’s words were slurring.

Aranu managed an amused grin as Rawien slipped into unconsciousness.

Aranu looked up as Galthenin approached. “My friend, I thought you were patrolling Mirkwood?”

“So I was, until we saw this group heading east. My confidence that you could have handled them was high, but we thought we would help.”

Aranu looked at the carnage around him. “It is good you came.”

In the hollow of the riverbank Tathiel stood, watching as the tall figure moved closer, the moonlight finally reflecting his features.

“Bregolas,” she breathed softly.

Bregolas pulled the arrow from his upper arm barely noting the flesh wound, inspecting instead the careful fletching on the shaft.

“You have become a fine shot, child,” Bregolas smiled at the still stunned Tinánia.

“I . . . .I . . .shot the prince. .” Tinánia sank to her knees.

Bregolas stepped forward to the group of stunned elves, and raised Tinánia to her feet.

“If the prince would have identified himself as an elf he would not have been shot,” he chuckled. “I thought you were orcs.”

Eärundra looked indignant. Prince or no, they did not look like orcs. “We thought you were an orc!”

Bregolas dropped to his knees next to Eärundra, who still clutched Legolas to her. The child looked suspiciously at the big elf, and then struggled from Eärundra’s arms to fling himself at Tathiel. She hugged him, then turned him to face Bregolas.

“Legolas, this is your brother Bregolas.”

Legolas considered the stranger carefully. He looked at Tathiel.

“He is an elf.”

“Yes, he is an elf. He is your oldest brother.”

“Lafron brother.”

“Yes, Lathron is also your brother.”

“Duil brother.”

“Celebrinduil is your brother too.”

“Bregles brother.”

Bregolas stepped closer and held out his hand, palm up. “I am Bregolas, Legolas, and I am your brother.”

Legolas tentatively stroked the palm, and then reached for Bregolas. Bregolas lifted Legolas into his arms, holding the child close. He gently stroked the golden hair, tucking it behind the little ear. Legolas mimicked his movements, stroking his dark hair, running his small hand down his brother’s cheek. He reached up and brushed a tear from Bregolas’ face.

“Bregles sad.”

“No, _tithen muindor_ , I am just very glad to finally meet you,” Bregolas hugged the little body close to his own, and thought his heart might burst when two little arms wrapped around his neck and held on tight.

Tathiel was finally drawn from her shock at seeing Bregolas by the calls above her. She climbed the embankment, and saw elves. Many elves. Elves everywhere. Eärundra and Tinánia were next to her, their eyes searching for their mother. Elves were tending the injured in small groups, and a cry from the group nearest to them sent the _ellyth_ running. One of the warriors tending Ethiwen was nearly knocked over as the two children tried to push past him.

Another of those tending her called for a blanket as the first elf held back the children.

“Just a moment, little ones, just a moment. You may speak to her; just let us finish binding the wound and then you can see her,” the elf wrapped strong arms around little bodies, as he had done with his own little ones many years before.

“Tinánia, Eärundra are you hurt?” Ethiwen’s voice was weak, but she was determined to be strong for them.

“No, _Nana_ , we are not hurt,” Tinánia answered, her fists gripping tight to the tunic of the elf holding her.

Another elf approached with a blanket, and they carefully covered Ethiwen with it. The healer tending her held the blanket off the ghastly wound to her thigh and hip, and the warrior holding back the children released them. Tinánia and Eärundra moved carefully to their _Nana_ ’s head and she quickly grasped a hand from each of them. She spoke quietly to them.

“See, I am going to be well. But they must tend me, and I do not wish for you to see the wounds. Go with Aeglos until they call for you.”

The _ellyth_ allowed themselves to be led away, and Ethiwen gratefully accepted the pain draught that had been prepared for her. The healer waited until he saw her pupils dilate and her grip on his hand relax. He pulled back the blanket and resumed his work.

Aranu pulled the two dead men off Galithon, and rolled the limp body over. As soon as he touched the elf he felt the faint spark of life still coursing through him, and Aranu breathed a sigh of relief. He called for assistance, and help came quickly.

Tathiel found several elves tending Rawien. His sword arm appeared broken, and an arrow was being removed from his thigh. She gently stroked his face, tears running silently down her own. She had seen him down, and fear had assailed her. She had thought her love was gone, that she had lost what she had just gained. As soon as she touched him she knew his spirit was still strong, and she gently stroked his forehead. She found herself in the healing trance, calming him and chasing away the fear and pain. His eyes slowly opened, and he gazed up at her.

“ _Nín melethril, nín hervess_. You did not think to part so easily from me?”

She gently covered his lips with her own, kissing him softly. “ _Al an pân uir_.”

“Come, my Lady,” gentle hands pulled her away from Rawien. “Let us tend to your wounds as well.”

“I am not injured,” Tathiel protested.

Aranu lifted her arm to show her the cuts and bruises there, and pointed to the gashes on her lower legs.

“I did not even notice,” she murmured, surprised.

“That is how it is in battle, my Lady. You and the little bow- _elleth_ fought well.”

Rawien smiled as they led his _meleth_ away.

***

A large fire burned in the middle of the camp, a deer roasting on a spit to one side. The injured sat leaning against packs and logs near to the center of the fire; their rescuers busy at tasks around the perimeter of the camp.

The bodies of the orcs and men had been discarded in the ravine. Aranu had reported twenty-one men killed and nearly two hundred orcs. Seventy elven warriors sat together now; perhaps the largest war-party of Mirkwood ever assembled outside of the realm since Dagorlad.

“We have decided that we shall all escort you home,” Aranu declared, enjoying the look of dismay on the face of his senior captain. “It is clear you cannot manage without us.”

“It may be more clear that I need you to stay close so we can work on your sense of timing,” Rawien retorted.

Tathiel smiled as she cuddled close to Rawien, his good arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. The good-natured jesting had started the moment the battle ended and she doubted it would end before they were safe in their beds in the palace.

“Well, it is also clear that young Sadron here needs a little practice with his leg work. How many times have you been injured on this trip, _pen-neth_?” Galthenin ruffled the hair of the young warrior. “He moved so well in training; who would know that he would be out-danced by orcs on the battlefield?”

Sadron rolled his eyes but said nothing. He knew better than to engage in any verbal sparring with the captains.

“I, for one, want to see another demonstration of this _neth elleth’s_ skill with the bow,” Aranu turned to Tinánia who sat at her mother’s side. “Eleven orcs dead. I still cannot believe it, _tithen min_. Meren, you had best beware. This one is going to break every record you set.”

Meren turned slightly to face Aranu, and his face lit up with glee.

“Shot in the posterior. Did we not teach you to not turn your back on orcs? They have no sense of fair play,” Aranu continued.

Meren sighed and buried her face in her arms. She would never live this down. Never mind that the orcs had surrounded her. . . . no, that part of the tale would be forgotten.

The teasing continued; a warrior’s outlet for expressing their relief that none had died that day. Varandil, Ethiwen and Galithon were seriously injured, and even now lay slightly apart from the rest, still in deep sleep induced by the healers. Bellion and Elunell would be unable to ride for several days at least due to leg injuries; and Laerion had enough stitches to in his abdomen and arms that Legolas was forever wanting to come and see the patterns embroidered on his skin. Lachthoniel had fared the best with only a bruised ribcage and broken fingers on his left hand.

Next to Tathiel Bregolas lay on his side, propped on his elbow. A wolf pelt was spread out in front of him, and lying on that pelt with his toy woolf clutched to his chest was his sleeping baby brother. He had spent the morning being introduced to each of the elfling’s toy animals, learning what noises the animal made and hearing the tales of Legolas’ young life. He knew the child’s favorite foods, which horse was his favorite; all about ‘his’ _ellyth_ and all about how ‘Tafiel loved Rawen’. He had heard about ‘bad men’ and how the bad men ‘hurt Tafiel and hurt Legles’. He listened as Legolas told him all about ‘Lafron’ and all that Lathron had told him about home.

He stroked the small head gently, and tears glistened in his eyes when a small hand reached for him in sleep, grabbing his hair and twining his fingers through it.

When he asked Legolas what he would do when he first got home, the child said, “Legles meet _Ada_. _Ada_ waiting for Legles come home.”

Bregolas could hardly wait to get home.

*******

**Author’s note:**   
_anor = sun_  
nín caun = my prince  
pen-neth = young one  
elleth/ellyth = elf maiden/maidens  
daro = stop/halt  
meleth = love  
nín melethril = my lover  
nín hervess = my wife  
tithen muindor = little brother  
al an pân uir = not for all eternity  
neth elleth = young elf maiden   



	28. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

Bregolas stood on the ridge overlooking the River Celduin where it split from the Carnen, turning to the northwest. The camp that had so concerned Galithon several days earlier was destroyed. Aranu and Galthenin and their warriors had decimated the site, throwing the remains of the shelters into the ravine with the bodies of the orcs and men. As soon as the injured elves were able to continue their journey and had passed the ravine, they would set it ablaze.

The prince had noted several things about the attack. The men appeared to be Easterlings, and by their markings they were in the service of Sauron. He did not believe the attack on Rawien’s rescue party was intended; they appeared to have been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dol Guldur had long been quiet; now the peace had ended and shadow had returned with a vengeance. Whether Sauron was returned himself to Dol Guldur or one of his wraiths, Bregolas did not know. Regardless, they needed to fortify their defenses and take what actions they could to protect their people.

Bregolas smiled. Galithon’s party, he mentally corrected himself, not Rawien’s party. It was Aranu who had noted the silver band on Rawien’s right hand. Bregolas had silenced Aranu with a look after the initial teasing when he saw Tathiel blush uncomfortably. Galthenin had immediately congratulated his friend and wished Tathiel his best as well.

Having non-warriors and children in the midst of a war-party was a shock to all of them. The large increase in people moving about, talking and teasing had caused Tathiel and all the children to become more reserved and even uncomfortable. Bregolas had split the campsite, keeping the original ten warriors, himself and the healers and captains at the main site. The others he had moved into a protective ring of smaller sites around the injured. The three children and Tathiel had immediately relaxed in the presence of the smaller group and Rawien had quietly thanked him.

Bregolas returned to the camp, stopping under the trees near the horses to stroke Urevio’s mane. He could see the elves gathered round the fire pit, the fire small and only for cooking on this warm summer day.

Legolas. Bregolas shook his head and smiled. The child was the image of his mother. The rest of the children had inherited their father’s looks and to some degree his temperament. Legolas favored his mother, and his ever-ready smile and cheerful disposition was so like to Narawen that his heart ached to think on it.

“Bregles!” Legolas called as he saw his brother. He started to run to his brother, then stopped and turned to Tathiel for permission. She looked at Bregolas, and when he nodded she waved Legolas onward.

“Bregles!” Legolas slammed into his knees, wrapping short arms around his brother’s legs and climbing to stand on the top of Bregolas’ feet.

Bregolas reached down and swung the child up into his arms. “I am visiting Urevio. Would you like to see him?”

“Urevo good horse,” Legolas agreed readily.

Bregolas swung Legolas up on to Urevio’s back, and small hands clutched the mane with glee. Legolas snuggled his face into the soft hair and patted the horse’s side.

“Urevo Bregles horse. Pretty horse.”

“Urevio is a handsome horse,” Bregolas agreed. “Are you hungry, _tithen muindor_?”

“Legles hungry,” the child readily agreed. Bregolas scooped him off the horse, and setting him on his feet, took him by the hand and led him back to camp. Legolas let go of his hand and small legs flew as he raced to Tathiel and Rawien. He wrapped his arms around Tathiel’s neck as he hugged and kissed her, then settled into her lap to eat as she set a plate in his lap. His brother temporarily forgotten, Legolas told Tathiel all about Urevio.

“He is a beautiful child,” Galthenin observed as he joined Bregolas.

Bregolas leaned against the tree, his face solemn as he watched the elfling eat and chatter with the elf who was for all intents and purposes his _Nana_. It was obvious how strong the bond was between Legolas and Tathiel.

“Tathiel is the only mother he has known,” Bregolas spoke softly, speaking more to himself than anyone else. “I cannot imagine the harm that would be done to him should he be taken completely away from her.”

“You might find her equally grieved should you try to remove the elfling completely from her care,” Galthenin replied.

“How are the injured faring?” Bregolas changed the subject with a smile.

“Improvement in all cases,” Galthenin replied. “Camnesta would like a full fortnight for recovery before we move on. This position is defensible.”

“Tell Camnesta to plan on the fortnight,” Bregolas replied. “Barring further troubles we should be home by the fall festival.” He smiled. “We will have much to celebrate this year.”

***

“How much longer, _Nana_?” Eärundra asked impatiently.

“We shall enter the forest tomorrow, _nín-sell_ ,” Ethiwen replied. “We will be home in six days.”

“Will _Ada_ come to meet us?” Tinánia asked from her seat with Meren.

“I do not know, Tinánia,” Ethiwen replied with a smile. “Prince Bregolas has sent an advance guard and messengers that will reach home several days before us. Your _Ada_ r will come if the King decides he should.”

Legolas’ tender years made him oblivious to the passage of time, and he was content to ride and play with the warriors who entertained him. The _ellyth_ , however, missed their father and each day they drew closer to the forest was met with excitement. Lists of all they wanted to do and see when they reached home were made. They wanted to see their _Ada_ first, then take baths, then see their friends. Tinánia had several shy discussions with Aranu and Galthenin who had responsibility for training the novice warriors. She was too young for most of the lessons, but they had decided to allow her to continue her archery training with the older children.

“What will you say to your _Ada_ , Legolas?” Tathiel had finally retrieved the child from Sadron who would gladly have kept him the rest of the day. She knew it was rather absurd of her to worry, but she wanted the little prince to make a good impression when he met his father.

Legolas chewed his lower lip, thinking.

“Legles say _Mae Govannen Ada_ King! Legles come home,” Legolas grinned at her.

“That is very nice,” Tathiel hugged him. “Your _Ada_ wants to see you so much.”

“ _Ada_ see Bregles brother,” Legolas mumbled around the lemba he was chewing.

“No talking with food in your mouth, _tithen caun_ ,” Tathiel reminded him. “Your _Ada_ will be happy to see Bregolas come home too.”

Legolas swallowed and grinned. “Food gone!” He was distracted by Urevio appearing at his side, and his face lit up when he saw his brother. “Ride Urevo with Bregles!”

Bregolas laughed as he strapped the carrier to his chest and shoulders, and his little brother settled against him. He had learned when carrying his brother to stay in Tathiel’s sight at all times, or else suffer the consequences imposed by a squirming bundle of energy looking for his ‘Tafiel’.

They camped that night at the edge of the forest near the Old Forest Road.

***

_Four days later west of the Long Marshes……_

“There are riders approaching, _Hîr-nín_ ,” Aeglos called to Bregolas.

Bregolas quickly unstrapped Legolas from his chest and handed him to Tathiel. He rode forward, hearing the sound of riders approaching at a fast pace. A call went out and bows were lowered at the confirmation that the riders were elves from Mirkwood. A rider appeared ahead of them on the path, an escort following him a short distance behind.

The warriors leading the group parted, moving to the sides of the path. Soon only Ethiwen and Meren remained on the path, smiles tugging at their lips. Tinánia and Eärundra were watching the rider approach, watching the warriors part, wondering at first why their _Nana_ and Meren were not moving also when a flicker of recognition sparkled in Tinánia’s face. She leaned forward over the horse, then slipped to the ground and began running forward.

“ _Ada_? _ADA_!”

Eärundra watched her sister begin to run, and the same recognition dawned on her. She slid to the ground, stiff from the many hours of riding and watched as the rider leaped from his horse, hitting the ground running. She heard her sister scream with joy, and she too began to run forward.

Urithral caught Tinánia in his arms and hugged her with tears of joy streaming down his face, but he did not stop. He continued to race forward, Tinánia in his arms, until he reached his youngest. His mind noted the stiffness of her movement, but his eyes saw only the joy in her face, and he dropped to his knees as he gathered her in his other arm.

Urithral wept unashamedly in the middle of the path with daughters sobbing in his arms as he held them tight, raining kisses on their foreheads and cheeks. He looked up, his eyes searching for his wife and he saw her also weeping with joy as she watched her daughters reunite with their father. Their eyes met, and walking over to them she dropped to her knees, and cupping his face in her hands, she kissed him tenderly. He folded her into the embrace.

The elves quietly dismounted, leading horses ahead a short distance to a spot where they often camped, leaving the family alone for a few moments, although well protected by warriors hidden in the shadows at the edge of the road.

Tathiel watched as Legolas walked back to the path. He stopped at the edge, and watched the reunion curiously. Urithral stood, Eärundra in his arms and Tinánia’s hand in his and began to walk towards the camp. Legolas held his ground for some time; after all these were his _ellyth_ and Ethiwen was their _Nana_. But he did not know this big elf and he turned and ran back to Tathiel as his courage left him.

“That is the little prince?” Urithral asked.

“Yes, _Ada_ ,” Tinánia answered. “That is Legolas. I think you scared him.”

Legolas watched the four come near him from the safety of Tathiel’s arms. After they were seated, Eärundra held out her hand to the elfling, and he tentatively walked to her. Urithral was careful not to startle the child, and soon Legolas was engaged in conversation with his _ellyth_.

“Nania and Rundra’s _Ada_?” Legolas finally asked, watching the big elf sitting next to Ethiwen.

“That is our _Ada_ , Legolas!” Eärundra squeezed him in a hug. “You will meet your _Ada_ very soon.”

“ _Mae Govannen_ , Legolas,” Urithral greeted him softly.

“ _Mae Govannen_ . . . . Rundra’s _Ada_ ,” Legolas answered politely.

Urithral laughed, the sound of joy music to the ears of his daughters and he found them both in his lap moments later. Legolas watched them for a moment, clearly taken by the idea of _Ada_ s, until Tathiel called him to come eat his dinner.

***

Prince Bregolas led the elves through the gates of the palace grounds. Their approach had been noted several hours earlier, and it seemed all of the elves of King Thranduil’s realm had turned out to welcome them home. The press of elves eager to greet loved ones and friends slowed the procession and a murmur spread through the crowd when the young prince was first spotted.

Legolas sat in front of Tathiel and Rawien on Anorion, gazing in silence out at the thronged masses of elves before him. He stared in wonder at the halls carved into the rock and the dwellings in the trees and on the grounds around the palace. Seeing seventy warriors the day of the ambush had been overwhelming; seeing hundreds of people so close caused him to scoot as far back against Tathiel as he could. Sensing his growing discomfort, Tathiel loosed him from the carrier, and Rawien handed the contraption to one of the guards as Tathiel drew Legolas into her arms, his little arms wrapped tightly about her neck. He peered out occasionally at the elves surrounding him, then buried his face back into Tathiel’s hair.

On the steps of the palace stood Lathron, Celebrinduil, Elenath and Elumeril. Bregolas stopped the procession before them and dismounted. He embraced each of them, and then motioned for them to enter the Great Hall.

The ten warriors, Urithral, Tathiel and the three children followed them, and Bregolas brought up the rear. The report to the King and the first meeting of the youngest prince and his _Ada_ was not for public consumption.

Tathiel carried Legolas into the Great Hall, his face still buried in her shoulder. Bregolas walked at her side. No herald announced their arrival, the guards quietly opened the doors and they passed through in silence.

King Thranduil stood at the base of his throne, watching as his children took their places to his left amidst the empty hall. Thranduil looked out at the warriors before him. Joy shone on their faces as they stood before him. Eager eyes watched as Bregolas led Tathiel forward with the blond elfling in her arms. Rawien and the other warriors followed several paces behind them. Tathiel gently disentangled small fingers from her hair and turned the elfling around.

Legolas looked around, awe evident in his face. His eyes took in the grand room, finally coming to rest on the tall elf standing a short distance before him.

Thranduil felt his breath catch as the child turned to face him. The golden hair, the blue eyes, the facial features – the child was the image of his mother. Emotions flitted across his face – joy, remembrance, pain, longing. He saw the gaze of the child rest on him.

Tathiel lowered Legolas to the floor, and knelt beside him. She whispered in his ear that this was his _Ada_ , and his _Ada_ would like very much for his little son to come greet him.

Legolas stood and looked up at his brother Bregolas. Bregolas held out his hand, and Legolas slipped his tiny hand into that of his big brother, and together they walked forward. When they were just a few feet from the King, Bregolas let go of his hand and stepped back.

Legolas gazed up at the king; the elf who was his _Ada_. His _Ada_ did not appear nearly as happy to see him as Nania and Rundra’s _Ada_ was to see them. He remembered the words he had practiced. Stepping forward, he bowed as Tathiel had taught him.

“ _Mae Govannen, Ada_ King,” Legolas started out slowly, his voice unsure. He turned to look over his shoulder at Tathiel, and she smiled at him and motioned for him to continue. He turned back to his _Ada_. He stopped. Was that a tear on his _Ada_ ’s face? Was his _Ada_ sad? Rundra’s _Ada_ had cried to see her too. Drawing a deep breath, one small hand behind his back twisting the fabric of his tunic, he continued, “Legles come home to _Ada_.”

Thranduil felt tears welling in his eyes; felt his composure slip and he cared naught. He took several steps forward, and saw the small elf tremble. He dropped to his knees.

“Legolas. . . . my son. . . please, come to _Ada_ ,” Thranduil held out his arms. Legolas looked back at Tathiel one more time and saw her crying. Why was everyone crying? He looked at Bregolas and saw tears running down his cheeks. He looked at his _Ada_ , holding his arms out to him. In two steps he was in his _Ada_ ’s arms.

“Welcome home, Legolas, . . . my child . . . my son. . . I am so very glad you have come home,” Thranduil hugged the child to him, stroking his hair, his back. He felt warm breath in his ear, and small hands brushing tears from his cheek.

“ _Ada_ sad?” Legolas asked tentatively.

“No, _nín-ion_ , I am not sad. I am so happy to meet you. . . so very happy to meet you. I have waited so long for you to come home,” Thranduil could not hold back the tears. “ _Ada_ is so glad you are home.”

“Legles home,” Legolas agreed, and he clasped his arms around his _Ada_ ’s neck and tucked his head under _Ada_ ’s chin. Yes, _Ada_ ’s arms were a good place to be.

The silence in the Great Hall was broken as the King stood, his son finally safe in his arms. The warriors were exclaiming in joy as the children of the King stepped forward to meet their brother.

Legolas peered at the elves gathered round him from the safety of _Ada_ ’s arms. He could understand why Nania and Rundra liked being in their _Ada_ ’s arms.

“Legolas, these are your brothers and sisters,” Bregolas stroked his back gently. “Come and meet them.”

Legolas looked at them, and with his head resting on _Ada_ ’s shoulder he offered them a sweet surprise.

“Elmeril sister,” he began with the one who was like Tinánia, delighted when Elumeril smiled and kissed his hand. “Elnath sister.” Elenath kissed his cheek and shook his small hand. “Duil brother an Legles has Bregles brother,” Legolas was warming up to this game. Celebrinduil gave him the warrior’ handshake. Legolas turned to Lathron last. “Lafron brother,” he said solemnly. “Lafron visit Legles sleep.”

Lathron had felt his heart sing when he first beheld the child whom he had visited in dreams so often in the last year. He felt he knew him already, and to hear Legolas greet him as if he knew him was music to his soul. He stepped forward to the elfling, and was surprised when Legolas climbed willingly into his arms and pressed his forehead against Lathron’s forehead, staring straight into his eyes.

“Legles love Lafron too.”

Tears of joy ran down Lathron’s face as he hugged his brother close. Every time he had departed from Legolas’ dreams, he had whispered ‘I love you’. The child remembered.

The families of the warriors had gathered in the back of the hall, waiting for permission to greet their loved ones. Thranduil saw the growing group, and he reached again for his son.

“Legolas, come with _Ada_ to say thank you to the warriors,” he whispered in the child’s ear.

Legolas turned with a grin, and looked at the warriors. He squirmed down from his _Ada_ ’s arms and raced across the floor, flinging himself into Sadron’s arms. Sadron swung him up high in the air, tossing and then catching him. Legolas’ squeal of delight rang out in the hall.

Thranduil approached the warriors, and reached for Legolas who lunged back into his arms and squeezed him tight.

“I. . . Thank you for bringing my son home. You have my deepest gratitude. . .,” Thranduil said to the group, for the first time having difficulty finding the words to express himself. “Please. . . . greet your families. We will gather this eve for a great feast.”

The warriors turned and sought out loved ones with cries of joy and tears of relief. Tathiel stood where she was, listening to the sounds of happiness around her. A sudden feeling of emptiness had come over her as released the child she had protected and loved into the arms of his father. She felt warm arms encircle her and she leaned into Rawien’s embrace, closing her eyes as tears filled them. She was so grateful for his presence; so grateful she had him. She felt suddenly weary, and wondered if the room she had occupied in the palace for so many long years was still hers.

“Tathiel,” she heard the King’s voice.

She opened her eyes and before her stood King Thranduil, still holding his precious charge who seemed very clearly to enjoy the attention.

“Come,” he said gently. “A hot bath awaits you in your room. You must rest, and then come to the banquet tonight. You have much to tell me and there is much I want to hear from the one who has protected and raised this child of mine.”

Thranduil motioned for Rawien to come as well, and it was the king who escorted Tathiel to her chambers. She entered the room to find that it was indeed prepared with a hot bath and clean clothes waiting for her. She turned to thank the King, and felt tears come unbidden to her eyes and she choked on her own sob as she looked at the little one before her. In his entire life he had never been out of her sight. For his whole life she had provided for his needs.

“Come, Legolas. There is nothing an _elleth_ enjoys more than a hot bath and soothing quiet. Let us let Tathiel enjoy that. Your room is just around the corner. She will come see you as soon as she has rested,” Thranduil spoke soothingly to the child as he felt the elfling tense.

Legolas’ lower lip quivered as his _Ada_ turned to leave. In all the excitement of meeting his _Ada_ and his brothers and sisters he had never considered that he might be separated from Tathiel. Legolas wiggled to the ground and launched himself at her. She picked him up and gathered him close, shushing his sobs and her own. She finally allowed her eyes to meet those of the King and was relieved to see only compassion.

Thranduil had known the bond between Tathiel and his young son would be very strong, as strong as any mother’s bond, and he realized some re-arrangement in accommodations would need to be made. He smiled at Tathiel, and then motioned to a servant standing near the bath.

“Meriwen, please prepare a bath for Legolas as well, and bring his clothing here.”

Thranduil stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Tathiel and Legolas. A sob escaped her, and she struggled to regain her composure. To her surprise, she felt warm tears against her cheek.

“Thank you, _nín-muinthel o gur_ ,” he whispered in her ear. “Enjoy a warm bath, and rest. I will send Lathron to you later to watch over Legolas while you sleep. Tonight you will sit next to me and tell me about _nín-ion_.”

Rawien had remained standing outside the door to Tathiel’s chamber. As the King released Tathiel, he turned to speak to her, and found his arm in the King’s firm grasp leading him away.

“You, on the other hand, may have no rest until I have heard at least a brief account of your tale,” he told Rawien. His sharp eyes had noted the silver rings when they first entered the Great Hall. He chuckled at the longing on Rawien’s face, such an unusual expression on this warrior he had known for thousands of years. “You may return in a while to escort the lady to dinner. Now come!”

Tathiel set Legolas down and looked slowly around the room. It was as she had left it; someone had cared for the chamber but disturbed none of her belongings. She felt a sob catch in her throat as she looked upon the soft bed, and then she looked at the steaming tub of water in the small bathing chamber off the main room. Legolas had never seen a tub for bathing. He stuck his hand in the water, and the look of surprise on his face made her smile. He was quite used to cold water; warm water was heated in small pots over fire and used carefully. He began to splash and looked up at her with a grin.

She crossed the room, her clothes dropping as she went. She reached the large tub, and reached for Legolas, stripping his tunic and leggings off. She stepped into the tub and slid down until the warm water reached her chin. Legolas stood in the water that reached mid chest and with small cries of enjoyment splashed and clapped his hands as he enjoyed his first bath.

With shining clean hair and little body scrubbed clean, Legolas snuggled into the towel with which Tathiel was briskly drying him. The servant appeared with clean clothes for the child, and Tathiel wrapped herself in a robe and then dressed him in the finest clothing he had ever worn. Meriwen smiled, and minutes later the tub was emptied and replenished with hot water. Toys and books appeared for Legolas, and Tathiel left him playing content on the big bed under the servant’s watchful eye. Tathiel slipped the robe off, and slid back into the warm water. She was home.

***

Lathron knocked softly on the door and was admitted by the servant. He smiled at her, and followed her gesture to the bed. Tathiel and Legolas lay snuggled together in the clean soft sheets, sound asleep.

The servant resumed her watch sitting in a rocking chair in the corner of the room where she appeared to be sewing a small garment. Lathron sat down on the edge of the bed and felt himself drawn into his brother’s dreams.

There was no longer any fear or need. He lightly probed Legolas’ thoughts, and felt contentment, joy and wonder. He smiled as he saw Legolas’ reaction to the bath; his joy at meeting his _Ada_ and his siblings. He felt the strong bond the child had with Tathiel, and the relief the child felt when he was not taken from her. The elfling stirred, and Lathron gently withdrew from his mind. He sat down in a chair next to the bed, and patiently waited.

***

“Tafiel pretty!” Legolas clapped his hands.

Tathiel smoothed the fabric of the gown, something she had not worn in over two years. It was loose, but Meriwen, the servant who had drawn the bath and waited patiently with Lathron while they slept, had deftly altered it so that it hung smooth and hid some of the gauntness that a tunic and leggings only emphasized. Meriwen had also done her hair, braiding it in a simple style that softened her thin face. Tathiel looked in the mirror, and nearly did not recognize the elf staring back at her.

“Tathiel is beautiful,” a voice said from the door. Tathiel turned.

“Rawien is handsome,” she answered, savoring the view of the formally dressed captain.

He held out his hand to her, and she stood. He offered her his arm, and she took it. Legolas stood before them, arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing the clothing of a son of the king; a deep green tunic edged with silver and brown velvet leggings. He had been spinning in circles, enjoying the way the light caught on the silver threads. Now, a little dizzy and tired of waiting he proclaimed, “Legles hungry!”

“Perhaps Legolas would like to come to the feast?” Bregolas appeared in the doorway.

“Bregles!” Legolas raced to his brother and was easily caught up in strong arms. Keen eyes noted that his big brother was wearing clothing very similar to his own and he smoothed his hands over Bregolas’ chest, enjoying the feel of the velvet, then fingered the silver edging. “Bregles and Legles are same.”

“Bregolas and Legolas are brothers,” Bregolas was pleased to see Legolas already making connections.

The Great Hall had been transformed into a massive dining room, and Tathiel marveled at how quickly the furniture, decorations and food had been prepared. It was near the time of the fall festival, and golden leaves and fruits of the harvest decorated the tables and walls. The Hall was filled with merry elves, and minstrels played and led in the singing of songs of joys. Indeed it appeared as if every elf in the realm was present. On the dais sat the long table that seated the King’s family. Also present at that table this evening were Urithral, Ethiwen, Tinánia and Eärundra; Tathiel and Rawien were also escorted to places of honor. Bregolas sat to his father’s right and a special child’s chair was placed to the King’s left. Tathiel found herself escorted to the seat next to that intended for Legolas and Rawien seated next to her. Elumeril was sitting with Tinánia’s arm wrapped in her own; best friends reunited.

The warriors of the rescue party were seated at tables below and in front of the King in positions of honor.

All rose as the King entered.

Legolas knew little of court decorum, or what behavior was expected of a young prince at a formal banquet. All he knew was that the _Ada_ he had just met and already adored had appeared. The herald was just about to announce the King’s arrival when a small voice resounded in the hall.

“ _Ada_ King!” Legolas flew across the dais and into his _Ada_ ’s arms.

The Great Hall rang with laughter as the blond elfling wrapped himself around his father. King Thranduil turned to the herald, who seemed uncertain how to proceed.

“I believe that will do to announce my arrival,” Thranduil chuckled, and he walked with great dignity to his place. He did not put Legolas down as he turned to face his people.

“There is great rejoicing in Mirkwood today, for the lost have been found and returned to us. My deepest gratitude is extended to the warriors who braved much to find and rescue them. Now, I introduce to you my youngest son, Prince Legolas.”

Legolas looked out at the crowd from the safety of his _Ada_ ’s arms and saw the people bow before them. They rose, and cheers and laughter rang through the halls. Legolas sat up straighter, and clapped his own hands, laughing with the sea of faces before him.

Thranduil sat, placing his son in his chair to his left. Legolas’ eyes widened as he stared at the table before him. Tathiel was already fixing a plate for him, and he sat motionless as it was set before him. He watched amazed as everyone around him used pretty silver things to pick up and carry the food to their mouths. Curious, he picked up one such item set near his plate, and poked it at a berry. The berry rolled off the plate and onto the tablecloth. He stabbed instead at a piece of meat, and the silver thing bounced back and he dropped it.

Many eyes watched the little prince as he finally gave in and used his fingers to eat his meal. He spoke not at all until his plate was empty. Then he stood on his chair and leaned over to his _Ada_. Wrapping sticky fingers around the King’s neck, he pressed his blackberry stained face into Thranduil’s robes and whispered, “Legles glad to be home, _Ada_.”

Thranduil moved back from the table, and pulled Legolas into his lap. He studied the little one, his eyes memorizing the child’s face and features. Motioning Tathiel to stay seated, he took a dining cloth, dipped it in water and washed the sticky face and hands. His heart was filled with love as he looked upon his son and he smiled.

He heard the minstrels resume their music, and the tables were cleared to the side as dancing began in the center of the hall. The great doors were thrown open, and the cool autumn air flowed inside. The stars could be seen twinkling in the night sky.

He needed to speak to Tathiel.

He had spoken for a short time with Rawien and Bregolas. They skimmed only the surface of the story they would tell, highlighting the health and well-being of the four who had been lost. Bregolas had expressed his concerns about the mother’s bond that Tathiel shared with Legolas; a concern Thranduil shared from only his short visit with them. A concern that Rawien echoed.

Thranduil drew Tathiel aside into a quiet corner, and she sat next to him. Her heart was full of joy at the sight of the little prince cuddled in his _Ada_ ’s arms while full of heartbreak at knowing what was soon to come. Rawien stood behind her, his hands gently massaging her neck and shoulders.

“Tathiel, there are not words to express my gratitude for all that you have done. Legolas is alive because of you, and the sacrifices you made far exceeded any duty that you might have felt expected of you. Narawen loved you as a sister, and you have been as true as any sister could be. I too consider you my sister. My son, however, considers you his _Nana_. I see in your eyes that he is to you a son.”

Tathiel’s breath caught and her eyes closed. She felt a warm hand cover her own.

“I know you and Rawien wish to marry, and on this you have my blessing and my joy. I have yet another request of you, my sister, that is great. I hope that you may grant it while also holding to your own desires. Legolas is bonded to you, and I believe it would harm you both to sunder that bond. I ask you to continue as his caregiver. We will work together to bring him into the family, but I will predict now that you will always have a place in his heart. As you served your Queen with selfless devotion, I ask that you continue to serve her family.”

A sob escaped Tathiel and she finally opened her eyes to face the King. She saw love in his eyes; love for his son and love for her. Without thinking, she threw her arms around his neck.

“Yes, oh yes! I was so afraid you were asking me to step aside,” words broke through her tears. “I should think I would die of grief to let him go now.”

King Thranduil held her for a moment, then Tathiel pulled back and felt Rawien’s strong arms about her shoulders again.

“I have arranged for new chambers for you that connect to Legolas’ rooms. I am sorry they are not as fine as I would like, but that will be remedied. Assuming your devoted captain is willing to give up his bachelor’s quarters when you marry, apartments will be prepared for you then.

“Now, you must go dance and I will keep this sleeping elfling company,” Thranduil finished as he cradled the warm little body to his chest.

He sat alone with his son, and leaning down he kissed the child’s head. “I thank the Valar for protecting you, _nín-ion_. I am so glad you are finally home.”

*******

**Author’s note:**   
_tithen muindor = little brother_  
tithen caun = little prince  
nín-sell = my daughter  
mae govannen = well met  
Hîr-nín = My Lord  
nín-ion = my son  
nín-muinthel o gur = sister of my heart   



	29. Epilogue: Imladris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

Rawien finished his wine and set the goblet back on the desk in Glorfindel’s study. Elrond had been studiously listening and taking notes; now he glanced at Rawien and laughed.

“How is it that over five hundred years have passed, and I knew naught of this story?” he asked, bemused.

Rawien looked grave for a moment. “Much else happened at that time. The return of the lost ones brought great joy to Mirkwood, but the return of shadow is what captured the attention of the other realms.”

“The White Council first met the summer after your return,” Elrond remembered. “Now we know why King Thranduil possessed such a large amount of information about orcs, men and Dol Guldur. He focused on the information when he presented to the council and never spoke of how he had come to have such information. I should have thought to ask why elves of the woodland realm were near the Sea of Rhûn.”

“Does this tale further your belief that the Valar and perhaps Ilúvatar himself were involved in the affairs of men and elves in Middle-Earth?” Glorfindel asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“There is much to support my theory,” Elrond remained serious. “That Aragorn as the last heir of Isildur was kept alive, protected and guided to become a Man worthy of reclaiming the throne;

“that the hobbit Bilbo found the one ring , unknowingly kept it safe, and was not corrupted by its influence;

“that the hobbit Frodo would be orphaned and adopted by Bilbo, and then be willing to become the Ringbearer;

“that the Ringbearer should have such worthy friends – that Sam would stay by his side to death, if need be;

“that the young hobbits would play such roles as to eventually involve the Ents and the Huorns, without whom perhaps the battles of Helm’s Deep and Isengard would have had a very different outcome and thus the war as well;

“that Mithrandir was sent just for this purpose and he knew all those who were to become important to the quest.

“Now I may add this tale of young Legolas. It is more than the amazing fact that he is alive that I count as benefit, but that in the hunt to recover him valuable information was obtained to aid the White Council. Perhaps no other such friendship has existed in this age between dwarf and elf, and that these two were brought together on this quest was of great benefit to Aragorn and to the rebuilding of the Reunited Kingdom. I am thus inspired to learn more of what circumstances shaped Gimli’s life and led him to be in Rivendell for the forming of the fellowship.”

“And Boromir?” Glorfindel asked.

“I believe Boromir was meant to be part of the fellowship. If his brother Faramir had come, as may have been originally intended, the Ringbearer might not have received the aid and friendship Faramir provided him at Henneth-Anûn. It is indeed difficult to know the outcome if Boromir had not died at Parth Galen; for then the protection and aid provided to Rohan and Gondor may not have occurred, and there might have been no people left for Aragorn to reunite,” Elrond finished.

The three were silent as each contemplated his own thoughts regarding fate, chance and circumstance. Rawien stood and began perusing the titles of volumes on the bookshelf near his chair.

“Glorfindel, where is the account of the only other elfling we could think of who had been chased down and found by warriors seeking him?”

“I hardly think that is relevant to this discussion,” Elrond spoke, one eyebrow arching as his eyes caught Glorfindel’s.

“Ah, but it may be one of the most important ‘circumstances’ to this whole tale,” Glorfindel laughed, ignoring the warning look from Elrond. “For if young Elrond had not been found unharmed in that cave near Sirion, there might not have been a refuge for wayward hobbits or a white council or a fellowship or anyone who could gather together representatives of the free peoples of Middle-Earth and convince them of the need to destroy the One Ring! But, alas, that tale has not been set to paper.”

Rawien settled back into his chair, and poured himself another cup of wine.

“I look forward to hearing this story,” he said expectantly.

“Not this night,” Elrond laughed. “That is for another day. Let us finish this story instead. Did you ever discover the identity of the Watcher? What became of the little archer? How did the little prince adjust to civilized life? And what became of Tathiel?”

“The identity of the watcher remained a mystery. They never saw him. I think he qualifies as a ‘circumstance’ conceived by the Valar to aid them that terrible winter,” Rawien took the questions in order. “The little archer, Tinánia, has her own story to tell. It is my belief, although I am always hesitant to say it too loudly in front of any of my master archers, that only Legolas surpasses her skill with the bow.”

“The little prince appears to have adjusted well,” Glorfindel grinned.

“Legolas was very much a child of the realm,” Rawien sighed, leaning back in the comfortable chair. “All of the warriors involved in his rescue considered him as their own. No other elfling has received so much attention. You wonder why he is the finest archer of Mirkwood? He had more individual instruction than any before or after him. He was never spoiled, though. Neither his father, nor his brothers nor Tathiel would have allowed that to happen. He matured into one who was not easily led astray, yet remained amazingly adaptive to new peoples and situations.”

“And Tathiel?” Elrond prompted.

“Tathiel is my wife. I did not chase her halfway around Middle-Earth to let her go ever again. We sail together,” Rawien answered, love and pride evident in his voice and eyes.

“What has prompted you to leave now?” Elrond asked, curious.

“Legolas,” Rawien laughed. “Lathron sails with us also. It was he who said that Legolas had some part to play in this life for the good of the elves and Middle-Earth. Now that he has fulfilled that destiny, we are ready to go home. We will await him there.”

“It is a good ending, _mellon-nín_ ,” Elrond lifted his wine in salute and they drained their cups in silence.

*******

**Author’s note:**   
_mellon-nín = my friend_   



	30. Epilogue: Valinor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story tells of the tragedy and amazing circumstances surrounding the birth and early years of Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.

“Is it true he brings a dwarf here?” Celebrinduil asked doubtfully.

“It would seem a strange tale, but I have heard it is true,” Rawien replied.

“Why would they let a dwarf come to the home of the elves? A dwarf did betray us,” Eärundra pointed out.

“This dwarf is his dearest friend,” Lathron replied. “They fought together in the War of the Ring and helped defeat the dark Lord Sauron.”

“They let hobbits come to Valinor,” Tinánia defended the decision.

“Yes, but they were Ring-bearers,” Eärundra argued the point. “Did the dwarf bear a ring of power?”

“No, but he defended the Ring-bearers. He fought orcs, goblins, wargs and trolls. He also has the favor of the Lady Galadriel,” Rawien explained.

A short distance away from the excited chatter of the others, Tathiel stood next to her dearest friend, their hands grasped tightly as they stared across the horizon. They had been there since dawn, when word had first come that a ship was on course and would be welcomed to Tol Eressëa. Few words had been spoken, for there was little to say. Finally a sail was spotted, and the ship grew in the distance. Tathiel could feel the building excitement and she savored the memory of having done this not long ago, knowing that this would be as joyous a reunion as any she had witnessed.

Her companion was not so sure, for it had been long since she had beheld the one she now looked for.

The ship finally nudged the quay, and a dock was stretched that the two occupants might descend. The dwarf would have stayed in the background, but the elf dragged him forward in his excitement to see so many family and friends meet him. His eyes danced and sparkled as he beheld each one.

He stopped suddenly and the dwarf bumped into him.

“Legolas? What is it?” Gimli asked gruffly, looking in the direction the elf was staring.

Legolas was silent, then he began to walk quickly towards the one he knew only from pictures.

“ _Naneth_?” he whispered as he neared the beautiful elf standing with his brothers.

“My son, my little Greenleaf,” Narawen reached out and touched his cheek, gently wiping away the tear that spilled from his eye. Then she embraced him and they stood there long moments, tear streaming freely, until Narawen finally released him and turned him to the one on her other side. “Legolas, this is your brother Alagos.”

Legolas stood before his brother, and as he was the image of his mother, Alagos was the image of their father. He grasped his brother’s arm in the warrior’s greeting first, and then Alagos had him in his arms.

“ _Tithen muindor_ , you are not so little any more,” Alagos held him at arm’s length finally and looked him over.

There had been silence on the quay as all allowed for this first meeting between mother and son and brothers, but now all gathered round to greet him. Legolas easily drew Gimli into the circle of his loved ones and introduced him to each one.

“Come!” Narawen finally clapped her hands to gain everyone’s attention. “There is food and drink waiting for us. Let us go celebrate this reunion in proper style!”

A roar of approval greeted her announcement, and as the crowd started up the hill Legolas could hear his nana’s lovely voice welcoming Gimli, telling him of all the fine food and drink awaiting him and drawing him easily into the circle of elves.

“I am sorry you did not know her,” Legolas heard Lathron’s voice behind him. “That is how she always was - gay and merry and full of laughter. When you were finally brought home to us, that is what you brought with you. You looked like her, and you acted like her. Having you was like having a part of _Nana_ with us.”

“Thank you, my brother,” Legolas choked on the words as tears filled his eyes and he held his brother close.

“You are welcome, although I do not know why you are thanking me,” Lathron hugged him back, then wiped the tears from Legolas’ face.

“I had many who taught me to be a warrior, and I had the love and companionship of my father and siblings. I was loved and had the love of a mother in Tathiel. But you were special to me, _muindor-nín_. You always knew my heart,” Legolas replied, blinking away the tears that still spilled from his eyes.

He stepped back to regain his composure, and when he next looked up at his brother, over his shoulder on a low ridge there stood what appeared to be an elf. Legolas took in the practical clothing, the twinkling eyes and the beautiful bow the elf carried on his shoulder. The person waved at him, and bowed slightly. Legolas saw an image flash before his eyes of another ridge, another figure, a last wave goodbye.

“Lathron, do you know who that is?”

Lathron turned and looked in the direction his brother indicated. He smiled and waved at the figure, who waved back.

“He did not wish to tell me his name; he said it was not important. He is a Maia, a personal servant to Manwë and acts only upon his bidding,” Lathron answered. “He asked me to give you this.” Lathron held out an exquisitely carved figure of a wolf. “You had one of these as a child. Did you know him?”

Legolas took the carving reverently, gently rubbing the fine detail of the wolf’s coat and ears. He looked up again at the ridge, but the Maia was gone.

“I still have it,” he answered slowly. “I have all the carvings he made for me.”

“Then you do know him?” Lathron asked, surprised.

“Not exactly,” Legolas slowly smiled. “He was the Watcher, Lathron. The one who took care of us that terrible winter we spent in the cave in the Iron Hills. I hope I see him again. There is much I wish to thank him for.” Legolas grabbed his brother by the arm and began to pull him up the hill, “Come! Our mother is waiting and there is a celebration to attend!”

The End

*******

**Final author notes** :

There are a number of rebirth/reincarnation notes in the HoME series; I chose the one that best fit my purposes here. After a period of time in the Halls of Waiting, Mandos releases the elf to Valinor with a new body. Narawen and Alagos spent a few centuries in Mandos’ Halls, and were then released to Valinor in time to greet Legolas.

The watcher is a Maia, similar to Olorin (Mithrandir, Gandalf). We know five wizards were sent to live in ME for the specific purpose that Gandalf so wonderfully carried out; I figured the Valar or Eru himself could send them for other reasons too. He is as like to a guardian angel as I could make him.

THANK YOU to all who stuck with this story to the end. Thanks to Daw the Minstrel, my wonderful beta who also left one of the first reviews on this story; Rorrah for beta’ing many of the early chapters, and Jocelyn for plot advice.

It is easy to be influenced by ‘fanon’ – the writings of other fanfiction writers. So if you see anything suspicious, I will say here and now that Jocelyn’s ‘Little Nudge’ strongly influenced how I think about wood-elf culture and life; and the way Elwen portrays Elrond and the healing skills of the elves influenced how I saw Tathiel. Thanks to you both; sorry if I took any liberties!

 

If you have enjoyed this story, a sequel may be found [ Here ](http://www.henneth-annun.net/stories/chapter.cfm?STID=2173)


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